With 
Wordsworth in England 



Edited by Mrs. McMahan 



FLORENCE IN THE POETRY OF 
THE BROWNINGS 

WITH SHELLEY IN ITALY 

WITH BYRON IN ITALY 

WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Each with over 60 illustrations 

12mo edition net $1.40 

Large-paper edition net 3.75 



A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers 
CHICAGO 



pOCKERMOUTH Castle and the River Derwent, 
near Wordsworth's Birthplace. 




"The fairest of all rivers, loved 
To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song. 



On his smooth breast the shadow of those towers 
That yet survive, a shattered monument 
Of feudal sway." 

— The Prelude, Book i, p. 19. 



With 
Wordsworth in England 

Being a Selection of the Poems and Letters of 

William Wordsworth 

Which have to do with English Scenery 
and English Life 

Selected and Arranged by 
Anna Benneson McMahan 

Editor of " Florence in the Poetry of the Brownings," etc. 

With over Sixty Illustrations 
from Photographs 




Chicago 

A. C. McClurg & Co. 

1907 



k RY of CONOR 




Two OoDle? Received y 

oct s 190? TTisxSZ 

CopyneW Entry 
Oct 2 /f*7 

CLASS A XXC, No, . / / O 



Copyright 

A. C. McClurg & Co. 

1907 

All rights reserved 

Published September 28, 1907 



For the beautiful illustrations of the country of Southwestern England, the 
editor makes grateful acknowledgment to Mr. Henry Ware, of Cambridge, Mass. 

Many of the photographs reproduced in this volume were made by Mr. G. P. 
Abraham, of Keswick. 



The University Press, Cambridge, TJ. S. A. 



To One of the "Best Knowers" of 
WORDSWORTH 

GEORGE RECORD PECK 

In Memory of 
Two Decades of Friendship 



What were mighty Nature's self? 

Her features, could they win us, 
Unhelped by the poetic voice 

That hourly speaks within us ? 



Yabbow Rbvmitid. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Page 

General Introduction xvii 

the years 1770-1795 

Introductory to Wordsworth's Life at Cockermouth, 

Hawkshead, Cambridge University 1 

An Evening Walk 9 

The Sparrow's Nest 14 

To a Butterfly 15 

In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth 15 

Address from the Spirit of Cockermouth Castle ... 16 

To the River Derwent 17 

Prom "The Prelude," Book I 

The Poet Favoured in his Birthplace .... 17 

Love of Nature Developed in School-Days ... 20 
From " The Prelude," Book II 

Sports of Boyhood 31 

Morning Walks 38 

Poetic Visions 39 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 42 

From " The Prelude," Book III 

Cambridge 42 

University Life 44 

Letter to Dorothy Wordsworth 47 

From "The Prelude," Book IV 

First College Vacation 49 

Becomes a " Dedicated Spirit " 54 

Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge; Three 

Sonnets 56 

Cathedrals, etc 58 

[vii] 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Page 

Letter to William Mathews 59 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 59 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 60 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 63 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 63 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 64 

Letter to William Mathews 67 

Prom " The Prelude," Book V 

Tribute to Books 67 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 73 

THE YEARS 1795-1800 

Introductory to Life at Racedown and Alfoxden. . 75 

To the Memory of Raisley Calvert 83 

From " The Prelude," Book XI 

Tribute from the Poet to his Sister 83 

Letter to Francis Wrangham 88 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 88 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 89 

Lines Written in Early Spring 90 

To my Sister 91 

Expostulation and Reply 93 

The Tables Turned 94 

From "Peter Bell" 95 

"There was a Boy" 98 

A Poet's Epitaph 100 

Lines near Tintern Abbey 103 

From "The Old Cumberland Beggar" 108 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 110 

Letter to James Losh 112 

Letter to Thomas Cottle 114 

Letter to Thomas Cottle 115 

From " The Prelude," Book XIV 

Alfoxden Days with S. T. Coleridge ... .115 

[ viii ] 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Page 

the years 1800-1813 

Introductory to Life at Grasmere and Coleorton . 119 

From " The Recluse." Life at Grasmere 125 

Letter to S. T. Coleridge 136 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 142 

Emma's Dell 145 

" I "Wandered Lonely as a Cloud " 147 

Poems Relating to Nab-Scar 

The Waterfall and the Eglantine 148 

The Oak and the Broom 150 

" Yes, it was the Mountain Echo " 155 

The Idle Shepherd-Boys . . 156 

A Farewell 160 

"She was a Phantom of Delight" 162 

Letter to Sir George Beaumont 163 

Letter to Sir George Beaumont 165 

Letter to Sir Walter Scott 166 

Yarrow Unvisited 168 

Letter to Sir George Beaumont 170 

Letter to Sir George Beaumont 172 

" When to the Attractions of the Busy World " ... 175 

To the Daisy 178 

Elegiac Verses 181 

Elegiac Stanzas : Peele Castle in a Storm 184 

"Brook! whose Society the Poet Seeks" 187 

"Loud is the Vale" 188 

ToRothaQ 189 

To Lady Fitzgerald 189 

Letter to Sir George Beaumont 190 

Yew-Trees 192 

Written in March : Brother's Water 193 

Personal Talk 194 

Admonition . 196 

'"BelovedVale'.'Isaid" 197 

[ix] 



iX 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Page 

" The World is too much with us" 198 

To Sleep : Three Sounets 198 

Sonnets of Patriotism 

In London, September, 1802 200 

London, 1802 201 

" Great Men have been among us " 201 

" It is not to be thought of " 202 

" When I have borne in Memory " 202 

Composed upon Westminster Bridge 203 

To the Cuckoo 204 

To a Sky-Lark (1805) 205 

To a Sky-Lark (1825) 206 

" O Nightingale ! thou surely art " 207 

"Pelion and Ossa Flourish Side by Side" 208 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 208 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 209 

Letter to Sir George Beaumont 212 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 214 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 215 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 217 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 218 

Letter to Lady Beaumont 219 

Letter to Sir George Beaumont 222 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 223 

Letter to Thomas Poole 225 

Letter to Lord Lonsdale 226 

Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle 228 

Ode: Intimations of Immortality 234 

THE YEARS 1813-1850 

Introductory to Life at Rydal Mount 243 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 251 

Sonnet to Wansfell 251 

" The Massy Ways, Carried across these Heights " . . 252 

" Adieu, Rydalian Laurels ! " 253 

[x] 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Page 
From " The Excursion," Book I 

The Poet 253 

From "The Excursion," Book II 

"The Solitary's" Home among the Mountains . 256 

The Langdale Pikes 257 

Mist Opening in the Hills 259 

From " The Excursion," Book III 

The Vale of Little Langdale ....... 260 

From " The Excursion," Book IV 

Man's Relation to God 264 

Evolution Leads to Love and Adoration . . . 266 
From " The Excursion," Book V 

The Vale of Grasmere 269 

Hackett Cottage in Little Langdale 271 

Life is Love and Immortality 273 

From "The Excursion," Book VII 

Grasmere Churchyard 273 

The Simple Life 275 

Loneliness of the Deaf Man 277 

Blindness 278 

From "The Excursion," Book IX 

True Equality of Mankind 280 

Duty of the State in Education 282 

On Lake Windermere 283 

A Vesper Service on Longhrigg Fell . . . . 285 

Letter to Benjamin R. Haydon 288 

Letter to Benjamin It. Haydon 289 

Letter to James Losh 290 

Letter to Walter Savage Landor 291 

Letter to Walter Savage Landor 293 

Letter to Walter Savage Landor 294 

Letter to Sir George Beaumont 296 

Sonnets on the Langdale Pikes 297 

The Pass of Kirkstone 298 

Sonnet to Oxford 301 

[xi] 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Page 

Six Sonnets from Series to "The River Duddon" . . 302 

The Wishing-Gate 305 

The Primrose of the Rock 308 

To Miss Blackett : on her First Ascent of Helvellyn . . 310 

Sonnet at Fumess Abbey 312 

Airey-Force Yalley 312 

" Forth from a Jutting Ridge " .313 

Inscription for Southey's Monument 314 

Letter to G. Huntly Gordon 315 

Letter from Dorothy Wordsworth 316 

Letter to Sir W. Rowan Hamilton 319 

Letter to Sir W. Rowan Hamilton 320 

Letter to Sir W. Rowan Hamilton 321 

Letter to Sir W. Rowan Hamilton 323 

Letter to John Kenyon 323 

Letter to Sir Walter Scott 325 

Yarrow Revisited 326 

Letter to Sir William Rowan Hamilton 330 

Letter to Henry Nelson Coleridge 331 

Letter to Henry Crabb Robinson 332 

Letter to Mrs. Wordsworth 333 

Letter to Benjamin R. Haydon 335 

From Wordsworth's Conversation 336 

Letter to Professor Henry Reed 337 

Letter to Professor Henry Reed 338 

Letter to Edward Moxon 340 

Letter to Sir Robert Pee) 341 

Letter to Professor Henry Reed 342 



[xii] 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 
Cockermouth Castle and Derwent River .... Frontispiece 

Wordsworth's Birthplace, Cockermouth 3 

Falls of Lodore 8 

Derwentwater and Friar's Crag 16 

Esthwaite and Hawkshead 20 

Wordsworth's Lodgings at Hawkshead 26 

Hawkshead School-room 30 

Furness Abbey 34 

Islands of Windermere 38 

Lake Windermere 42 

St. John's College, Cambridge 48 

Village of Hawkshead with Wetherlam in the distance ... 52 

King's College Chapel, Cambridge 56 

St. John's College Chapel 66 

Coniston " Old Man " 72 

River Lyn, at Lynmonth 76 

Wordsworth's House, near Holford, Somerset 82 

Portrait of Dorothy Wordsworth at the age of 62 ... . 86 

Wordsworth's Glen at Alfoxden 90 

Valley of Rocks, near Lynton . 94 

Village Road, Lynton 98 

Tintern Abbey 102 

Nave of Tintern Abbey 106 

[ xiii ] 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Pagk 

Among the Quantock Hills 110 

Tillage Road, Somersetshire 114 

Dove Cottage, Grasmere 121 

Grasmere from Dunmail Raise 128 

Living Room, Dove Cottage 132 

Bedroom, Dove Cottage 136 

The Well, Dove Cottage 140 

Emma's Dell, Grasmere 146 

Nab Scar, from River Rothay 150 

Rydal Lake and Nab Scar 154 

Dungeon Ghyll Eorce 158 

Poet's Seat, Dove Cottage Garden . . . . 162 

Stybarrow Crag, Ullswater 168 

Daffodils blooming on the Banks of Ullswater 172 

"Wordsworth's Eir Grove 176 

Grisedale Tarn and Pass, with Ullswater in distance; from 

Seat Sandal 182 

River Rothay, Grasmere 186 

River Rothay 190 

Lower Room, Dove Cottage 194 

The River Rothay in Winter 200 

Borrowdale Yews, west of Keswick 204 

Derwentwater and Mt. Skiddaw 208 

Brougham Castle on River Emont 214 

Brimmer Head Bridge 220 

Easedale Tarn 228 

Tilberthwaite Glen 236 

Rydal Mount 245 

Wansfell 250 

Blea Tarn Cottage 256 

Langdale Pikes 262 

[xiv] 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Paos 

BleaTarn 268 

Hackett Cottage 274 

Loughrigg Tarn and Fell 280 

St. Oswald's Church, Grasmere 286 

Interior of St. Oswald's Church 292 

Langdale Pikes from Thrang Crag 298 

Ulpha, in Duddon Valley 304 

The Wishing Gate 310 

Crosthwaite Church, Keswick 316 

Helvellyn, Striding Edge, and Red Tarn; Ullswater in distance 322 

Oxford 328 

High Street, Oxford 334 

Helm Crag and Grasmere Lake 338 

Graves of Wordsworth Eamily, Grasmere 342 



[xv] 



Introduction 



OF all poets, William Wordsworth is the one who 
has taken most pains that his readers shall know 
every influence and every experience that have 
shaped his life and his verse. " The Prelude/' a poem of 
fourteen books with over eight thousand lines, and " The 
Excursion/'' with nine books and nearly nine thousand 
lines, are witnesses. But their very voluminousness stands 
as a bar against that intimate acquaintance which it was 
the poet's hope to foster. The world, however mistakenly, 
is content to take these for the most part on trust, familiar 
perhaps with a few noble citations, often without even 
knowing their source. Eeduced to their simplest terms, 
these poems are the story of a man of exceptional natural 
endowments finding his chosen companions in the rivers, 
woods, hills, and mountains, in sky and sun and cloud and 
storm. These spoke to him " rememberable things/' — 
at first a simple message, later a revelation of the intimacy 
between this Nature of " sense and outward things " and 
his own soul, the Universe, and God. To interpret and pass 
on this message became Wordsworth's life-work. "Every 
great poet is a teacher. I wish to be considered as a 
teacher or nothing," he said. His desire has been realized; 
year by year the number increases of those who recog- 
nize Wordsworth as the Great Teacher of the nineteenth 
century. 

[ xvii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

It would be foolish to claim that there is any magic in 
the special landscape which had such power over Words- 
worth's life and poetry ; yet so full are his poems of local 
allusions that no lover of them can fail to wish to identify 
the actual spots mentioned. The attempt to do so from 
the top of a coach, with a copy of " The Excursion " in 
hand, is a familiar sight in the Lake District of England. 
The result is a failure both geographically and poetically. 
It is now twenty years since Wordsworth's principal editor 
and biographer, Professor Knight, suggested that "a vol- 
ume of Selections limited to those which allude to localities 
in the Lake Country, containing fifty to one hundred illus- 
trations, would be found to cast an unexpected flood of 
light upon the whole district, and the poet's work in con- 
nection with it." Until the present year, no such volume 
has been offered. The " Selections M by Mr. Stopford 
Brooke, prefaced by his charming introduction and illus- 
trated by pen-and-ink drawings, appears while this volume 
is passing through the press. "With Wordsworth in 
England " has for its aim to cover also that fertile and 
brilliant period of Wordsworth's life when he lived in 
Somersetshire, before settling in the Lake Country. 

Also, it is time that this generation should begin to 
take a truer view of the human side of Wordsworth. 
Somehow his name fails to evoke the warm personal 
attachment felt toward most of our poets. A certain 
aloofness (to borrow Coleridge's word) is commonly at- 
tributed to his personality. The popular conception is 
that he was a man entirely self-sufficient, silent, reserved, 
caring little for the affectionate side of life, loving nothing 
[ xviii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

so much as his own poetry, and living- a life of seclusion 
from the world entirely from his own choice. Yet not 
so felt his contemporaries. His sister Dorothy writes, 
' ' William has a sort of violence of affection, if I may so 
term it, which demonstrates itself every moment of the day 
when the objects of his affection are present with him, in a 
thousand almost imperceptible attentions to their wishes, 
in a sort of restless watchfulness which I know not how 
to describe, a tenderness that never sleeps, and at the 
same time such a delicacy of manners as I have observed 
in few men." We know on the same authority that he 
was " adored " by his brothers John and Christopher, and 
Coleridge exclaimed, " God love him ! When I speak in 
terms of admiration due to his intellect, I fear lest these 
terms should keep out of sight the amiableness of his man- 
ners." So passionately jealous was his love for his only 
daughter that the thought of her marriage even to a man 
he liked caused him so many sleepless nights and such 
agonies of mind as were painful to behold. From the 
sorrow of her death, which occurred three years before his 
own, he never fully recovered. His love for children was 
so great that his fellow-traveller at Nimes reported him as 
less interested in the famous Eoman amphitheatre than in 
two children at play with flowers there. Wordsworth was 
heard to exclaim, " Oh, you little darlings, how I wish I 
could carry you home to Eydal Mount in my pocket ! ** 

For hospitality the Wordsworth household is something 
phenomenal in domestic annals. In the early days of life 
in Dove Cottage, a house of six small rooms, the joint in- 
come of brother and sister, barely one hundred pounds a 
[xix] 



INTRODUCTION 

year, guests seem to have been considered one of their 
absolute necessities. To them came and lingered, some- 
times for weeks at a time, such guests as John Words- 
worth, the poet's sailor brother, Coleridge and his wife, 
Southey, John Wilson, Walter Scott, Sir George and 
Lady Beaumont, Thomas Clarkson, Charles Lloyd, and the 
Coleridge children. In view of the fact that Wordsworth 
himself did many of the chores and split all the firewood 
for the sake of economy, it speaks volumes for his genial 
nature as host. And when we read of the smoking chim- 
neys, the leaking roofs, and other household tribulations, 
our respect for Dorothy as a housekeeper, who somehow 
contrived to make all these people happy in Dove Cottage, 
is almost equal to our admiration of her more shining 
gifts. Poor as the Wordsworths were in those days, one 
of their first outlays was for a second guest-chamber, lined 
by Dorothy with the newspapers of the day to save the 
expense of wall-paper. 

After Wordsworth's marriage, and under the more ample 
roof of Eydal Mount, the list of guests grew still longer. 
In fact, few men have ever attracted to themselves a larger 
circle of intimate friends, and even adorers. Some of the 
Hutchinsons (the family of Mrs. Wordsworth) were always 
inmates of the household ; Isabel Fen wick counted it the 
great happiness of her life to join the circle, and share 
with the other women-folk the duties of amanuensis. 
De Quincey, Wordsworth's successor in Dove Cottage, 
Arnold of Rugby at Fox How, John Wilson at Elleray, 
and Southey at Keswick, continually availed themselves of 
their privileges as neighbors. Wordsworth's infrequent 

[xx] 



INTRODUCTION 

visits to London were eagerly awaited by Charles and 
Mary Lamb, Henry Crabb Robinson, Benjamin Haydon, 
Gladstone, Rogers, and many others less known to fame. 
Walter Scott loved him devotedly, and even Byron, who 
had written hateful things about Wordsworth, changed 
his mind after meeting the man himself. 

Too little is known about the letters of Wordsworth. 
There is no complete compilation of them. Their neglect 
is perhaps due partially to Lowell's sweeping assertion, 
" In all his published correspondence you shall not find a 
letter, but only essays." This statement needs now to be 
modified, owing to many hundreds of letters which have 
come to light since this judgment was written, thirty 
years ago. Up to that time only a few dozen were known, 
and many of these were of the nature of " open letters," 
being written to express his views on public matters, and 
with an eye to possible publication. When it comes to 
personal letters, such as he wrote to Haydon, to Sir 
William Rowan Hamilton, to his Cambridge chums, 
Wrangham, Losh, and Mathews, and to Sir Walter Scott 
— most of these unknown to Lowell probably — we find 
them not at all dull. If Wordsworth be not exactly 
spontaneous in his epistolary style, the fact is partly due 
to certain physical disabilities, especially a great weakness 
of the eyes which forced him almost always to employ 
another hand than his own in putting his thoughts on 
paper. 

No apology can be needed for including also some of 
the letters of Dorothy Wordsworth. It is simply fol- 
lowing Wordsworth's own precedent in using her material 
[xxi] 



INTRODUCTION 

as his own, — " she gave me eyes, she gave me ears," — 
and he might have added that sometimes she gave him 
words as well. In his prose he often took passages bodily 
from her Journals, as if oblivious in which mind they first 
originated; and, in his poems, there is sometimes but the 
slight transformation needed for the verse form. Dor- 
othy's letters, like women's letters usually, tell us the 
little daily incidents of the home or of the walks and talks 
abroad, and furnish valuable flashes of insight into the 
manner in which Wordsworth turned facts into poetry. 

Another delusion that needs to be shattered is that 
Wordsworth's life was exceptionally sheltered from ob- 
stacles, that everything went his way, and that he had no 
unsatisfied longings. On the contrary, he had more than 
the usual difficulties in fixing upon a career by which he 
could make a living. The money due him from his father's 
estate was withheld by a dishonest debtor for nearly twenty 
years. His poetry did not " take " and (so he told Matthew 
Arnold) did not for many years bring him in enough to 
buy his shoestrings ; at the age of sixty he declared that 
the entire literary earnings of his long life had been about 
equal to those of a lawyer for two retainers or of the singer 
of two songs. He contrived somehow to live, marry, and 
travel on an income of one hundred pounds a year, but 
there were times when this meant a diet of "essence of 
carrots, cabbages, and other esculent vegetables, not ex- 
cluding parsley " — the produce of his own garden. He 
did not allow such facts to embitter him, but he did not 
enjoy poverty any more than most men do. 

Moreover, this stay-at-home man often declared that the 
[ xxii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

one passion of his life was for travelling. In his declining 
years the chief grudge he bore against Jeffrey for his harsh 
treatment in the Edinburgh was not for the literary wrong 
done him, but that " it prevented his going to Italy until he 
was sixty-three years old, by delaying the sale of his works." 
It was a wish to raise money enough to take a walking 
tour with his sister Dorothy and his neighbor Coleridge 
that gave the first impulse toward the publication of that 
epoch-making book " Lyrical Ballads." Five pounds being 
needed, and the combined purses of the three being unequal 
to such a strain, they planned to raise the amount by 
composing a poem en roxde, for magazine publication. 
The scheme grew from a single poem to a volume con- 
taining twenty-three poems, nineteen of which were fur- 
nished by Wordsworth. Comparing Southey with himself, 
Wordsworth says : " Books were his passion ; and wander- 
ing, I can with truth affirm, was mine." A Wanderer is the 
hero of his principal work, known to the world as " The 
Excursion," but during its composition always called by 
the family "The Pedlar Poem." Bearing in mind that 
Pedlars or Packmen were more esteemed in those days 
than now, it is significant that Wordsworth should confess, 
" Had I been born in a class which would have de- 
prived me of what is called a liberal education, it is not 
unlikely that being strong in body I should have taken 
to a way of life such as that in which my Pedlar passed 
the greater part of his days." He speaks with enthusiasm 
of the opportunities offered by such a life to an intimate 
knowledge of human concerns. Persons of nomadic habits, 
— beggars, waggoners, leech-gatherers, emigrants, destitute 
[ xxiii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

wayfaring folk such as a roving soldier's widow or a 
criminal, outcast sailor — these and such as these always 
attracted him. 

Wordsworth's self-appreciation has been made the sub- 
ject of many a merry jest. That Wordsworth was fully 
conscious of the supreme importance of what he had to 
say is doubtless true. How could it be otherwise without 
an entire default of the critical faculty ? But that it left 
him insensible to the work of others or jealous of their 
success is absolutely false. His abhorrence of envy was 
great. He recalled with regret two occasions in his life 
when he had suffered from this " horrid feeling/' but 
neither of them was connected with his literary composi- 
tion, — once when distanced in studying Italian by a 
fellow-student at Cambridge, and once when he tripped 
up his brother's heels in a foot-race when the brother 
was about to outstrip him. To competent criticism he 
was humbly deferential. When Sir Henry Taylor and 
Mr. Lockhart criticised the sonnets, he replied : " I have 
altered them as well as I could to meet your wishes, and 
trust you will find them improved, as I am sure they are 
where I have adopted your own words." He believed that 
his writings would live because "We have all of us 
one human heart"; but self-assurance like this is not 
arrogance, it is the self-confidence that accompanies all 
genius when it is of the highest order. Shakespeare in 
his " Sonnets," Spenser, and Milton are instances. As a 
matter of fact, Wordsworth underestimated rather than 
overestimated that effect of his verse on modern thought 
of which we are the living witnesses. 
[ xxiv ] 



INTRODUCTION 

Of Wordsworth's originality it is hardly possible to say 
too much. With most poets, especially in their early 
work, there are traces of the influences of other minds, 
— as Browning was indebted to Shelley, Shelley himself 
to Southey, Keats to Spenser, etc. But Wordsworth seems 
never to have come under the spell of any other poet ; his 
themes are those which he encountered in his daily walks, 
his similes are drawn from things which he had observed 
with his own eyes. 

Even the French Eevolution, which certainly did for 
a time dominate him, lost its hold as soon as he began 
to see to what it was leading. His justification for his 
change in political ideals is a grand protest against the 
bonds which the word consistency makes for men of 
smaller mind, — "I should think I had lived to little 
purpose if my notions on the subject of government had 
undergone no modification. My youth must, in that case, 
have been without enthusiasm and my manhood endured 
with small capability of profiting by reflection.'" The 
" Sonnets to Liberty " are the place to which we must 
turn to learn how true a patriot Wordsworth was at 
heart. To an American visitor he said that, although 
he was known to the world only as a poet, he had given 
twelve hours' thought to the condition and prospects of 
society for one to poetry. 

It was Nature — Nature in the largest meaning of that 
word — that was Wordsworth's great teacher and inspirer. 
True, it was Nature in her spiritual rather than in her 
material or pictorial aspects; therefore this is indeed the 
great matter for the reader of Wordsworth. Many and 

[ XXV ] 



INTRODUCTION 

able are the guides who have offered themselves for this 
upper region ; but if one be himself attuned to the message, 
no guide is needed, and without' such harmony no guide 
can avail. Other readers, perhaps of not less insight, 
but only of less patience, may welcome the humbler 
service here offered, — a guide to some of Wordsworth's 
well-beloved haunts, — hoping that at some happy moment, 
at some favored spot, perchance, to attain to the same 
vision which the poet recognized in his young friend on 
the top of Helvellyn: 

" Eor the power of hills is on thee, 
As was witnessed through thine eye, 
Then, when old Helvellyn won thee 
To confess their majesty." 

A. B. McM. 
Grasmere, England 
June, 1907. 



[ xxvi ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN 
ENGLAND 

THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

COCKERMOUTH: HAWKSHEAD : CAMBRIDGE 
INTRODUCTORY 

71 T OTWITHSTANDING all that has been said, 
jL V and truly, of the simplicity and lack of preten- 
sion in Wordsworth's life, it is notable that, 
with the exception of Dove Cottage, his successive 
homes were in houses of- considerable dignity and 
spaciousness. This is particularly true of his birth- 
place, a commodious, well-built house, standing in the 
midst of fine grounds, by far the best dwelling in the 
small Cumberland town of CocJcermouth. The deep 
garden at the bach ends in a high terrace adorned with 
beautiful plants, shaded by noble trees, and overhang- 
ing the swiftly flowing Derwent. That Wordsworth 
always retained tender memories of this place where 
he and his sister Dorothy, younger by two years, spent 
their early childhood is told often in his later verse. 
The finding of the sparrow's nest in the hedge of privet 
and roses on the terrace-wall; the distant height of 
Skiddaw from the same view-point; the far-off hill 
road that appealed to his imagination of lands beyond, 

[ i ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

are unforgotten. The Derwent is not only to hvm 
always the " fairest of all rivers" the " glory of the 
vale" but it is also " a tempting 'playmate whom we 
dearly loved" a " voice that flowed along my dreams" 
Cockermouth Castle, a few hundred yards away, is 
not only a " shattered monument of feudal sway" but 
a playground in wliose courts he had chased the butter- 
fly or m whose dungeons he had made himself a volun- 
tary prisoner. " Fostered alike by beauty and by 
fear, much favoured in my birthplace," he says. 

On the death of his mother, when he was nine years 
old, he was sent to school at Hawkshead, in the adjoin- 
ing county of Lancaster. Although his name may 
still be seen rudely carved on the desk where he sat, 
it was not in the school-room that he got his real edu- 
cation, but rather when he rose early to walk five miles 
round the Lake of Esthwaite before any one else was 

astir, and 

" sat among the woods 
Alone upon some jutting eminence, 
At the first gleam of dawn-light when the vale, 
Yet slumbering lay in utter solitude" 

or when, in search of woodcocks, he was tempted to 
take the bird caught m another's trap and 

" heard among the solitary hills, 
Low breathings coming after me, and sounds 
Of undistinguishabh motion, steps 
Almost as silent as the turf they trod." 

That he was even then a boy of no common mould, not- 
withstanding that he was the best skater and the most 

[ ^ ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

adventurous of mountain, climbers, is shown by what 
he told years after, — that he sometimes used to have 
to stop and grasp a tree or a wall to assure himself 
of the reality of the visible things, so keenly sensitive 
was he to the unseen presences, that moved slowly 
through his mind by day and were a trouble to his 
dreams at night. 

Rarely have the poets recorded for us the actual 
birth-moments of their poetic consciousness. Words- 
worth describes two such, with a minuteness that air- 
most enables us to fix the exact spot and hour. The 
first was when he was scarcely fourteen years old, one 
evening when walking between Hawkshead and Amble- 
side. The sun was just setting behind the familiar 
hills; the multitude of changing shadows, the forests 
outlined m strong relief upon the background of bril- 
liant sky, filled him with a new and surprising pleasure. 
Had any poet ever noted the infinite varieties and im- 
pressions of Nature in her common aspects? None 
that he had ever read, and he made up his mind to be 
that kind of a poet. 

Four years later came another epoch-making hour 
in his poetical history. It was in his first college vaca>- 
Hon, and with joy he had returned to the old home and 
haunts at Hawkshead. As befitted one with some 
experience of life, he made a point of entering into the 
interests of his old comrades, of joining in their festivi- 
ties with even more zest than formerly. Far into the 
night these were sometimes prolonged, and on one 
[ 3 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

occasion the sun was rising as he turned his steps 

homeward. But to him it was no common sunrise: — 

" The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds, 
Grain-tinctured, drenched in empyrean light ; 

. . . . I made no vows, but vows 
Were then made for me ; bond unknown to me 
Was given that 1 should be, else sinning greatly, 
A dedicated Spirit" 

For their own sokes these scenes are worth visit- 
ing, — the quaint old market town of Hawk she ad, 
proud of its gingerbread and its " wiggs "; the 
picturesque church; the antique dwellings with their 
curious gables and pent-houses, and with a brook run- 
ning under one of the principal streets. In walking 
distance, in every direction are spots of romantic 
beauty, — Tarn Hows, the valleys of Yewdale and 
Langdale leadmg to glistening mountain tarns, the 
noble heights of Old Man Coniston and Wetherlam, 
and those " lusty twins," the Langdale Pikes. 

But for the Wordsworth lover there is added the 
charm of realizing that it was here, in comparative 
solitude, that the boy recognized those " gleams like the 
flashing of a shield," here that he began that constant 
and intimate communion with Nature that fitted him 
for his high office as her Great Interpreter. Even 
farther may one wander and still be on classic 
ground, — over the hill of Sawrey to the now well- 
peopled shores of Lake Windermere, or to the Vale 
of Deadly Nightshade where 

" Stands yet a mouldering pile with fractured arch, 
Belfry, and images and living trees," 

[4 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

the birds still building their nests and singing as 
sweetly as did that single wren m the nave one day, 

when 

" there I could have made 

My dwelling-place, and lived forever there 
To hear such music." 

While still a school-boy, the death of his father left 
Wordsworth both homeless and penniless. A payment 
due the estate, which should have been divided among 
the five children, was withheld from them not only 
now but for twenty years more. It was William, the 
second son, that seemed to give the guardians most 
anxiety. But the uncles on the Wordsworth side 
finally decided to give him a university training, 
hoping to fit him for some dignified career, and sent 
him to Cambridge. 

He was then seventeen and a half years old, — a 
country-bred lad unused to restraints of any kind, 
and thoroughly hating most of the studies he was 
required to take. " Frantic and dissolute " were the 
words he used of the student-life. Though he con- 
fessed that it had, at first, some attractions for him, 
it soon began to repel, and he returned to his old soli- 
tary and introspective ways. The chief shaping effect 
seems to have come from the thought that Milton and 
other poets had been his predecessors there, and he 
resolved that he, too, would become a poet. Naturally, 
this determination was not hailed with joy by the prac- 
tical uncles who were paying his bills. Several safe 
and eminently respectable careers were proposed; but 
[ 5 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

he felt himself too young for a curacy, disliked the law, 
abandoned thoughts of the army from fear of being 
sent to the West Indies and contracting yellow fever; 
meditated journalism, but found no one willing to join 
m the enterprise; and finally went to France, where he 
stayed fifteen months and had a rude and sad awaken- 
ing from the fond dreams he had cherished for the 
French Revolution. 

No wonder that the long-suffering guardians came 
to regard him as both lazy and obstinate, and that 
the Cooksons, his mother's relatives who had his be- 
loved sister Dorothy in charge, actually forbade him to 
visit her, for fear of his contaminating influence. It 
was m order to show that he had abilities of some sort 
that he now (1792) resolved to publish two poems 
which he had cm hand, — "An Evening Walk," ad- 
dressed to Dorothy, and " Descriptive Sketches," a 
poetic memorial of a walking tour through France, 
Switzerland, and the north of Italy, two years before. 

The critics were almost unanimous in their dispar- 
agement; the reading public paid them almost no 
attention. One young man, however, an undergrad- 
uate who had entered Cambridge the month after 
Wordsworth had taken his degree, had the insight to 
perceive that these were no common verses, and to 
recognize in them germs of a new order of poetry. 
This man was Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and later, 
when he himself commanded the public ear, he wrote 
" Seldom, if ever, was the emergence of an original 
[ 6 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

poetic genius above the literary horizon more evidently 
announced" 

The following Summer (1793) was also important 
for his poetry, for it was then that he first visited the 
south of England, spending one month of " calm and 
glassy days " in the delightful Isle of Wight, and 
making the acquaintance of the brothers William and 
Raisley Calvert. Later he left for a solitary expedi- 
tion,mostly on foot, to the north of Wales. He crossed 
the desolate expanse of Salisbury Plain, proceeded to 
Bath and Bristol, and thence up the Wye to Tintern. 
All of these places were afterwards used as settings or 
furnished incidents for poems. It was at Goodrich 
Castle that he met the little girl of " We are Seven "; 
and this was his first sight of the Abbey at Tmtern 
which later was to become the theme of the poem which 
we could perhaps least well spare of any, — the one of 
which it has been truly said, " The essential thought 
of ' Tintern Abbey ' was as new to the world as the 
thought of the Sermon on the Mount." 



[ i ] 



'ALLS of Lodore. 




Where Dericent rests, and listens to the roar 
That stuns the tremulous cliffs of hhjh Lodore." 

— An Evening "Walk, p. 9. 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

AN EVENING WALK 1 

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY 

Far from my dearest Friend, 't is mine to rove 
Through bare grey dell, high wood, and pastoral cove ; 
Where Derwent rests, and listens to the roar 
That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore ; 
Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads, 
To willowy hedge-rows, and to emerald meads ; 
Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottaged grounds, 
Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds ; 
Where, undisturbed by winds, Winander 2 sleeps 
'Mid clustering isles, and holly-sprinkled steeps ; 
Where twilight glens endear my Esthwaite's shore, 
And memory of departed pleasures, more. 

Fair scenes, erewhile, I taught, a happy child, 
The echoes of your rocks my carols wild : 
The spirit sought not then, in cherished sadness, 
A cloudy substitute for failing gladness. 
In youth's keen eye the livelong day was bright, 
The sun at morning, and the stars at night, 
Alike, when first the bittern's hollow bill 
Was heard, or woodcocks roamed the moonlight hill. 

In thoughtless gaiety I coursed the plain, 
And hope itself was all I knew of pain ; 
For then, the inexperienced heart would beat 

1 This was Wordsworth's first published poem (1793). It had been 
written during his first two college vacations ; the "young lady " to whom 
it is addressed was his sister Dorothy. 

2 Wynander-mere was the original form of Windermere. 

[ 9 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

At times, while young Content forsook her seat, 

And wild Impatience, pointing upward, showed, 

Through passes yet unreached, a brighter road. 

Alas ! the idle tale of man is found 

Depicted in the dial's moral round ; 

Hope with reflection blends her social rays 

To gild the total tablet of his clays ; 

Yet still, the sport of some malignant power, 

He knows but from its shade the present hour. 

But why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain ? 

To show what pleasures yet to me remain, 

Say, will my Friend, with unreluctant ear, 

The history of a poet's evening hear ? 

.«■•■• 

Just where a cloud above the mountain rears 
An edge all flame, the broadening sun appears ; 
A long blue bar its segis orb divides, 
And breaks the spreading of its golden tides ; 
And now that orb has touched the purple steep 
Whose softened image penetrates the deep. 
'Cross the calm lake's blue shades the cliffs aspire, 
"With towers and woods, a ( prospect all on fire ' ; 
While coves and secret hollows, through a ray 
Of fainter gold, a purple gleam betray. 
Each slip of lawn the broken rocks between 
Shines in the light with more than earthly green : 
Deep yellow beams the scattered stems illume, 
Par in the level forest's central gloom : 
Waving his hat, the shepherd, from the vale, 
Directs his winding dog the cliffs to scale, — 

[ 10 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

The dog, loud barking, 'mid the glittering rocks, 
Hunts, where his master points, the intercepted flocks. 
Where oaks overhang the road the radiance shoots 
On tawny earth, wild weeds, and twisted roots ; 
The druid-stones a brightened ring unfold ; 
And all the babbling brooks are liquid gold ; 
Sunk to a curve, the day-star lessens still, 
Gives one bright glance, and drops behind the hill. 

In these secluded vales, if village fame, 
Confirmed by hoary hairs, belief may claim ; 
When up the hills, as now, retired the light, 
Strange- apparitions mocked the shepherd's sight. 

The form appears of one that spurs his steed 
Midway along the hill with desperate speed ; 
Unhurt pursues his lengthened flight, while all 
Attend, at every stretch, his headlong fall. 
Anon, appears a brave, a gorgeous show 
Of horsemen-shadows moving to and fro ; 
At intervals imperial banners stream, 
And now the van reflects the solar beam ; 
The rear through iron brown betrays a sullen gleam. 
While silent stands the admiring crowd below, 
Silent the visionary warriors go, 
Winding in ordered pomp their upward way 
Till the last banner of the long array 
Has disappeared, and every trace is fled 
Of splendour — save the beacon's spiry head 
Tipt with Eve's latest gleam of burning red. 

Now, while the solemn evening shadows sail, 
On slowly waving pinions, down the vale ; 

[ 11 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

And, fronting the bright west, yon oak entwines 

Its darkening boughs and leaves, in stronger lines ; 1 

; T is pleasant near the tranquil lake to stray 

Where, winding on along some secret bay, 

The swan uplifts his chest, and backward flings 

His neck, a varying arch, between his towering wings : 

The eye that marks the gliding creature sees 

How graceful pride can be, and how majestic, ease. 

While tender cares and mild domestic loves 

With furtive watch pursue her as she moves, 

The female with a meeker charm succeeds, 

And her brown little ones around her leads, 

Nibbling the water lilies as they pass, 

Or playing wanton with the floating grass. 

She, in a mother's care, her beauty's pride 

Forgetting, calls the wearied to her side ; 

Alternately they mount her back, and rest 

Close by her mantling wings' embraces prest. 

• «•••• 

Now, with religious awe, the farewell light 
Blends with the solemn colouring of night ; 
'Mid groves of clouds that crest the mountain's brow, 
And round the west's proud lodge their shadows throw, 

1 This is feebly and imperfectly expressed, but I recollect distinctly the 
very spot where this first struck me. It was in the way between Hawks- 
head and Ambleside and gave me extreme pleasure. The moment was im- 
portant in my poetical history ; for I date from it my consciousness of the 
infinite variety of natural experiences which had been unnoticed by the poets 
of any age or country, so far as I was acquainted with them : and I made a 
resolution to supply in some degree the deficiency. I could not have been 
at that time above fourteen years of age. (Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 12 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Like Una shining on her gloomy way, 

The half-seen form of Twilight roams astray ; 

Shedding, through paly loop-holes mild and small, 

Gleams that upon the lake's still bosom fall ; 

Soft o'er the surface creep those lustres pale 

Tracking the motions of the fitful gale. 

With restless interchange at once the bright 

Winds on the shade, the shade upon the light. 

No favoured eye was e'er allowed to gaze 

On lovelier spectacle in faery days ; 

When gentle Spirits urged a sportive chase, 

Brushing with lucid wands the water's face : 

While music, stealing rouud the glimmering deeps, 

Charmed the tall circle of the enchanted steeps. 

— The lights are vanished from the watery plains : 
No wreck of all the pageantry remains. 
Unheeded night has overcome the vales : 

On the dark earth the wearied vision fails ; 
The latest lingerer of the forest train, 
The lone black fir, forsakes the faded plain ; 
Last evening sight, the cottage smoke, no more, 
Lost in the thickened darkness, glimmers hoar ; 
And, towering from the sullen dark-brown mere, 
Like a black wall, the mountain-steeps appear. 

— Now o'er the soothed accordant heart we feel 
A sympathetic twilight slowly steal, 

And ever, as we fondly muse, we find 

The soft gloom deepening on the tranquil mind. 



[ W ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

POEMS RELATING TO WORDSWORTH'S CHILD- 
HOOD DAYS WITH HIS SISTER DOROTHY 

THE SPARROW'S NEST 

Behold, within the leafy shade, 
Those bright blue eggs together laid ! 
On me the chance-discovered sight 
Gleamed like a vision of delight. 
I started — seeming to espy 
The home and sheltered bed, 
The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by 
My Father's house, in wet or dry 
My sister Emmeline 1 and I 
Together visited. 

She looked at it and seemed to fear it ; 
Dreading, tho' wishing, to be near it : 
Such heart was in her, being then 
A little Prattler among men. 
The Blessing of my later years 
Was with me when a boy : 
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears ; 
And humble cares, and delicate fears ; 
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears ; 
And love, and thought, and joy. 

1 " Emmeline " i3 often substituted for the real Dorothy, in the poet's 
verses. The high terrace of the end of the Cockermouth garden was a 
favorite playground of the two children, and the terrace wall of closely dipt 
privet and roses gave an almost impervious shelter to birds building their 
nests there. 

[ i* ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

TO A BUTTERFLY 
Stay near me — do not take thy flight ! 
A little longer stay in sight ! 
Much converse do I find in thee, 
Historian of my infancy ! 
Float near me ; do not yet depart ! 
Dead times revive in thee : 
Thou bring' st, gay creature as thou art ! 
A solemn image to my heart, 
My father's family ! 1 

Oh ! pleasant, pleasant were the days, 
The time, when, in our childish plays, 
My sister Emmeline and I 
Together chased the butterfly ! 
A very hunter did I rush 
Upon the prey : — with leaps and springs 
I followed on from brake to bush ; 
But she, God love her, feared to brush 
The dust from off its wings. 

SONNETS EELATING TO WORDSWORTH'S 
CHILDHOOD AT COCKERMOUTH 

IN SIGHT OE THE TOWN OE COCKERMOUTH 2 
A point of life between my Parent's dust, 
And yours, my buried Little ones ! ami; 
And to those graves looking habitually 

1 My sister and I were parted immediately after the death of our mother, 
who died in 1778, both being very young. (Wordsworth's Note.) 

2 "Where the author was born, and his father's remains are laid. 

[ 15 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

In kindred quiet I repose my trust. 
Death to the innocent is more than just, 
And, to the sinner, mercifully bent; 
So may I hope, if truly I repent 
And meekly bear the ills which bear I must : 
And You, my Offspring ! that do still remain, 
Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, 
If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain 
We breathed together for a moment's space, 
The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign, 
And only love keep in your hearts a place. 

ADDRESS FROM THE SPIRIT OF COCKERMOUTH 
CASTLE 1 

" Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly think, 

Poet ! that, stricken as both are by years, 

We, differing once so much, are now Compeers, 

Prepared, when each has stood his time, to sink 

Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link 

United us ; when thou, in boyish play, 

Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey 

To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink 

Of light was there ; — and thus did I, thy Tutor, 

Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave ; 

While thou wert chasing the winged butterfly 

Through my green courts ; Or climbing, a bold suitor, 

Up to the flowers whose golden progeny 

Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave." 

1 Written when Wordsworth was sixty-three years old. 

[ 16 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

TO THE RIVER DERWENT 
Among the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream, 
Thou near the eagle's nest — within brief sail, 
ly of his bold wing floating on the gale, 
Where thy deep voice could lull me ! Faint the beam 
Of human life when first allowed to gleam 
On mortal notice. — Glory of the vale, 
Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail, 
Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam 
Of thy soft breath ! — Less vivid wreath entwined 
Nemsean victor's brow ; less bright was worn, 
Meed of some Roman chief — in triumph borne 
With captives chained ; and shedding from his car 
The sunset splendours of a finished war 
Upon the proud enslavers of mankind ! 

FROM "THE PRELUDE," BOOK I 

COCKERMOUTH AND THE RIVER DERWENT 

[the poet favoured in his birthplace] 

The Poet, gentle creature as he is, 
Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times ; 
His fits when he is neither sick nor well, 
Though no distress be near him but his own 
Unmanageable thoughts : his mind, best pleased 
While she as duteous as the mother dove 
Sits brooding, lives not always to that end, 
But like the innocent bird, hath goadings on 
2 [ 17 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

.; drive her as in trouble through the groves ; 
With mo is now such passion, to be blamed 
No otherwise than as it lasts too Long. 

. . . Thus my days aro past 
In contraction : with no skill to part 
Vague longing, haply bred by want of powor, 
I" rem paramount impulse not to bo withstood, 
A timorous capacity, from prudence, 
i oironmspeotion. infinite delay. 

Humility and modes! awo, themselves 
Betray me. serving often for a eloak 
Do a more subtle selfishness : that now 
l.oeks everv function up in blank reserve. 
Non dupes me. trusting to an anxious eve 
That with intrusive restlessness beats off 
Simplicity and self-presented truth. 
Ah ! better far than this, to stray about 
Voluptuously through fields and rural walks, 
tad ask no reeord of the hours, resigned 
To vacant musing, unreproved neglect 
Of all things, and deliberate holiday. 
Far better never to have heard the name 
Of Kal and just ambition, than to live 
iffled and plagued by a mind that every hour 
.nt to her task ; takes heart again. 
Then feels immediately some hollow thought 
Hang like an interdict upon her hopes. 

is is my lot ; for either still I find 
Some imperfection in the chosen theme. 

L W I 



THE YEA ItS 1770 TO tfTflfi 

Or see of absolute accomplishment 

Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, 

That I recoil and droop, and seek repose 

In listlessness from vain perplexity, 

Un profitably travelling toward the grave, 

Like a false steward who hath much rece: 

And renders nothing back. 

"Was it for this 
That one, the fairest of all rivers, lo 
To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song, 
And, from his alder shades and rocky falls, 
And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice 
That flowed along my dreams ? For this, didst thou, 
Derwent ! winding among grassy holms 
Where I was looking on, a babe in arms, 
Make ceaseless music that composed my thoughts 
To more than infant softness, giving me 
Amid the fretful dwellings of mankind 
A foretaste, a dim earnest, of the calm 
That Nature breathes among the hills and gro 

When he had left the mountains and received 
On his smooth breast the shadow of those towers 
That yet survive, a shattered monument 
Of feudal sway, the bright blue river passed 
Along the margin of our terrace walk; 
A tempting playmate whom we dearly loved. 
Oh, many a time have I, a five years' child, 
In a small mill-race severed from his stream, 
Made one long bathing of a summer's day; 
[ 19 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Basked in the sun, and plunged and basked again 

Alternate, all a summer's day, or scoured 

The sandy fields, leaping through flowery groves 

Of yellow ragwort ; or, when rock and hill, 

The woods, and distant Skiddaw's lofty height, 

Were bronzed with deepest radiance, stood alone 

Beneath the sky, as if I had been born 

On Indian plains, and from my mother's hut 

Had run abroad in wantonness, to sport 

A naked savage, in the thunder shower. 

FEOM "THE PRELUDE," BOOK I 

HAWKSHEAD AND ESTHWAITE LAKE 

[love of nature developed in school-days] 

Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up 
Fostered alike by beauty and by fear, 
Much favoured in my birthplace and no less 
In that beloved Vale to which erelong 
We were transplanted ; — there were we let loose 
For sports of wider range. Ere I had told 
Ten birthdays, when among the mountain slopes 
Frost, and the breath of frosty wind, had snapped 
The last autumnal crocus, 't was my joy 
With store of springes o'er my shoulder hung 
To range the open heights where woodcocks run 
Along the smooth green turf. Through half the night, 
Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied 
That anxious visitation ; — moon and stars 
[ 20 ] 



J - 



•3 R 

t3 s. S 

TO s^ 

Rj to" 




THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Were shining o'er my head. I was alone, 
And seemed to be a trouble to the peace 
That dwelt among them. Sometimes it befell 
In these night wanderings, that a strong desire 
Overpowered my better reason, and the bird 
Which was the captive of another's toil 
Became my prey ; and when the deed was done 
I heard among the solitary hills 
Low breathings coming after me, and sounds 
Of undistinguishable motion, steps 
Almost as silent as the turf they trod. 

Nor less, when spring had warmed the cultured Vale, 
Moved we as plunderers where the mother-bird 
Had in high places built her lodge ; though mean 
Our object and inglorious, yet the end 
Was not ignoble. Oh ! when I have hung 
Above the raven's nest, by knots of grass 
And half-inch fissures in the slippery rock 
But ill sustained, and almost (so it seemed) 
Suspended by the blast that blew amain, 
Shouldering the naked crag, oh, at that time 
While on the perilous ridge I hung alone, 
With what strange utterance did the loud dry wind 
Blow through my ear ! the sky seemed not a sky 
Of earth — and with what motion moved the clouds ! 

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows 
Like harmony in music ; there is a dark 
Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles 

[ 21 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Discordant elements, makes them cling together 

In one society. How strange, that all 

The terrors, pains, and early miseries, 

Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused 

Within my mind, should e'er have borne a part, 

And that a needful part, in making up 

The calm existence that is mine when I 

Am worthy of myself ! Praise to the end ! 

Thanks to the means which Nature deigned to employ ; 

Whether her fearless visitings, or those 

That came with soft alarm, like hurtless light 

Opening the peaceful clouds ; or she would use 

Severer interventions, ministry 

More palpable, as best might suit her aim. 

One summer evening (led by her) I found 
A little boat tied to a willow tree 
Within a rocky cave, its usual home. 
Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in 
Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth 
And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice 
Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on ; 
Leaving behind her still, on either side, 
Small circles glittering idly in the moon, 
Until they melted all into one track 
Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows, 
Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point 
With an unswerving line, I fixed my view 
Upon the summit of a craggy ridge, 
The horizon's utmost boundary; far above 
[ 22 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky. 

She was an elfin pinnace ; lustily 

I dipped my oars into the silent lake, 

And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat 

Went heaving through the water like a swan ; 

When, from behind that craggy steep till then 

The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge, 

As if with voluntary power instinct, 

Upreared its head. I struck and struck again, 

And growing still in stature the grim shape 

Towered up between me and the stars, and still, 

For so it seemed, with purpose of its own 

And measured motion like a living thing, 

Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned, 

And through the silent water stole my way 

Back to the covert of the willow tree ; 

There in her mooring- place I left my bark, — 

And through the meadows homeward went, in grave 

And serious mood ; but after I had seen 

That spectacle, for many days, my brain 

Worked with a dim and undetermined sense 

Of unknown modes of being ; o'er my thoughts 

There hung a darkness, call it solitude 

Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes 

Remained, no pleasant images of trees, 

Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields ; 

But huge and mighty forms, that do not live 

Like living men, moved slowly through the mind 

By day, and were a trouble to my dreams. 

[ 23 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Wisdom and Spirit of the universe ! 
Thou Soul that art the eternity of thought 
That givest to forms and images a breath 
And everlasting motion, not in vain 
By day or star-light thus from my first dawn 
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me 
The passions that build up our human soul ; 
Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, 
But with high objects, with enduring things — 
With life and nature — purifying thus 
The elements of feeling and of thought, 
And sanctifying, by such discipline, 
Both pain and fear, until we recognise 
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. 
Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me 
With stinted kindness. In November days, 
When vapours rolling down the valley made 
A lonely scene more lonesome, among woods, 
At noon and "'mid the calm of summer nights, 
When, by the margin of the trembling lake, 
Beneath the gloomy hills homeward I went 
In solitude, such intercourse was mine ; 
Mine was it in the fields both day and night, 
And by the waters, all the summer long. 

And in the frosty season, when the sun 
Was set, and visible for many a mile 
The cottage windows blazed through twilight gloom, 
I heeded not their summons : happy time 
It was indeed for all of us — for me 
[ 24 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

It was a time of rapture ! Clear and loud 
The village clock tolled six, — I wheeled about, 
Proud aud exulting like an untired horse 
That cares not for his home. All shod with steel, 
We hissed along the polished ice in games 
Confederate, imitative of the chase 
And woodland pleasures, — the resounding horn, 
The pack loud chiming, and the hunted hare. 
So through the darkness and the cold we flew, 
And not a voice was idle ; with the din 
Smitten, the precipices rang aloud ; 
The leafless trees and every icy crag 
Tinkled like iron ; while far distant hills 
Into the tumult sent an alien sound 
Of melancholy not unnoticed, while the stars 
Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west 
The orange sky of evening died away. 
Not seldom from the uproar I retired 
Into a silent bay, or sportively 
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, 
To cut across the reflex of a star 
That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed 
Upon the glassy plain ; and oftentimes, 
When we had given our bodies to the wind, 
And all the shadowy banks on either side 
Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still 
The rapid line of motion, then at once 
Have I, reclining back upon my heels, 
Stopped short ; yet still the solitary cliffs 
Wheeled by me — even as if the earth had rolled 
[ 25 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

With visible motion her diurnal round ! 
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, 
Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched 
Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep. 

Ye Presences of Nature in the sky 
And on the earth ! Ye Visions of the hills ! 
And Souls of lonely places ! can I think 
A vulgar hope was yours when ye employed 
Such ministry, when ye, through many a year 
Haunting me thus among my boyish sports, 
On caves and trees, upon the woods and hills, 
Impressed, upon all forms, the characters 
Of danger or desire ; and thus did make 
The surface of the universal earth, 
With triumph and delight, with hope and fear, 
Work like a sea ? 

Not uselessly employed, 
Might I pursue this theme through every change 
Of exercise and play, to which the year 
Did summon us in his delightful round. 

We were a noisy crew ; the sun in heaven 
Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours ; 
Nor saw a band in happiness and joy 
Richer, or worthier of the ground they trod. 
I could record with no reluctant voice 
The woods of autumn, and their hazel bowers 
With milk-white clusters hung ; the rod and line, 
True symbol of hope's foolishness, whose strong 
[ 26 ] 




so CO 

« 2 



£ 

c 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

And unreproved enchantment led us on 
By rocks and pools shut out from every star, 
All the green summer, to forlorn cascades 
Among the windings hid of mountain brooks. 
— Unfading recollections ! at this hour 
The heart is almost mine with which I felt, 
From some hill-top on sunny afternoons, 
The paper kite high among fleecy clouds 
Pull at her rein like an impetuous courser ; 
Or, from the meadows sent on gusty days, 
Beheld her breast the wind, then suddenly 
Dashed headlong, and rejected by the storm. 

Ye lowly cottages wherein we dwelt, 
A ministration of your own was yours ; 
Can I forget you, being as you were 
So beautiful among the pleasant fields 
In which ye stood ? or can I here forget 
The plain and seemly countenance with which 
Ye dealt out your plain comforts ? Yet had ye 
Delights and exultations of your own. 
Eager and never weary we pursued 
Our home-amusements by the warm peat-fire 
At evening, when with pencil, and smooth slate 
In square divisions parcelled out and all 
With crosses and with cyphers scribbled o'er, 
We schemed and puzzled, head opposed to head 
In strife too humble to be named in verse : 



L 27 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Nor, sedulous as I have been to trace 
How Nature by extrinsic passion first 
Peopled the mind with forms sublime or fair, 
And made me love them, may I here omit 
How other pleasures have been mine, and joys 
Of subtler origin ; how I have felt, 
Not seldom even in that tempestuous time, 
Those hallowed and pure motions of the sense 
"Which seem, in their simplicity, to own 
An intellectual charm ; that calm delight 
"Which, if I err not, surely must belong 
To those first-born affinities that fit 
Our new existence to existing things, 
And, in our dawn of being, constitute 
The bond of union between life and joy. 

Yes, I remember when the changeful earth, 
And twice five summers on my mind had stamped 
The faces of the moving year, even then 
I held unconscious intercourse with beauty 
Old as creation, drinking in a pure 
Organic pleasure from the silver wreaths 
Of curling mist, or from the level plain 
Of waters coloured by impending clouds. 

The sands of Westmoreland, the creeks and bays 
Of Cumbria's rocky limits, they can tell 
How, when the Sea threw off his evening shade, 
And to the shepherd's hut on distant hills 
Sent welcome notice of the rising moon, 
How I have stood, to fancies such as these 
[ 28 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

A stranger, linking with the spectacle 

No conscious memory of a kindred sight, 

And bringing with me no peculiar sense 

Of quietness or peace ; yet have I stood, 

Even while mine eye hath moved o'er many a league 

Of shining water, gathering as it seemed, 

Through every hair-breadth in that field of light, 

New pleasure like a bee among the flowers. 

Thus oft amid those fits of vulgar joy 
Which, through all seasons, on a child's pursuits 
Are prompt attendants, 'mid that giddy bliss 
Which, like a tempest, works along the blood 
And is forgotten ; even then I felt 
Gleams like the flashing of a shield ; — the earth 
And common face of Nature spake to me 
Eememberable things ; sometimes, 't is true, 
By chance collisions and quaint accidents 
(Like those ill-sorted unions, work supposed 
Of evil-minded fairies), yet not vain 
Nor profitless, if haply they impressed 
Collateral objects and appearances, 
Albeit lifeless then, and doomed to sleep 
Until maturer seasons called them forth 
To impregnate and to elevate the mind. 
— And if the vulgar joy by its own weight 
Wearied itself out of the memory, 
The scenes which were a witness of that joy 
Remained in their substantial lineaments 
Depicted on the brain, and to the eye 
[ 29 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Were visible, a daily sight ; and thus 

By the impressive discipline of fear, 

By pleasure and repeated happiness, 

So frequently repeated, and by force 

Of obscure feelings representative 

Of things forgotten, these same scenes so bright, 

So beautiful, so majestic in themselves, 

Though yet the day was distant, did become 

Habitually dear, and all their forms 

And changeful colours by invisible links 

Were fastened to the affections. 

I began 
My story early — not misled, I trust, 
By an infirmity of love for days 
Disowned by memory — ere the breath of spring 
Planting my snowdrops among winter snows : 
Nor will it seem to thee, Friend 2 ! so prompt 
In sympathy, that I have lengthened out 
With fond and feeble tongue a tedious tale. 
Meanwhile, my hope has been, that I might fetch 
Invigorating thoughts from former years ; 
Might fix the wavering balance of my mind, 
And haply meet reproaches too, whose power 
May spur me on, in manhood now mature 
To honourable toil. Yet should these hopes 
Prove vain, and thus should neither I be taught 
To understand myself, nor thou to know 
With better knowledge how the heart was framed 
Of him thou lovest ; need I dread from thee 

1 Coleridge, to whom the Prelude was dedicated. 

[ 30 ] 



s r 



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THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Harsh judgments, if the song be loth to quit 

Those recollected hours that have the charm 

Of visionary things, those lovely forms 

And sweet sensations that throw back our life, 

And almost make remotest infancy 

A visible scene, on which the sun is shining? 

One end at least hath been attained ; my mind 
Hath been revived, and if this genial mood 
Desert me not, forthwith shall be brought down 
Through later years the story of my life. 
The road lies plain before me; — ^t is a theme 
Single and of determined bounds ; and hence 
I choose it rather at this time, than work 
Of ampler or more varied argument, 
Where I might be discomfited and lost : 
And certain hopes are with me, that to thee 
This labour will be welcome, honoured Friend ! 



FROM "THE PRELUDE/' BOOK II 

HAWKSHEAD AND LAKE WINDEKMERE 

[sports of boyhood] 

Thus far, Friend ! have we, though leaving much 
Unvisited, endeavoured to retrace 
The simple ways in which my childhood walked j; 
Those chiefly that first led me to the love 
Of rivers, woods, and fields. The passion yet 
Was in its birth, sustained as might befall 
[ 31 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

By nourishment that came unsought ; for still 
From week to week, from month to month, we lived 
A round of tumult. Duly were our games 
Prolonged in summer till the daylight failed ; 
No chair remained before the doors ; the bench 
And threshold steps were empty ; fast asleep 
The labourer, and the old man who had sate 
A later lingerer ; yet the revelry 
Continued and the loud uproar : at last, 
When all the ground was dark, and twinkling stars 
Edged the black clouds, home and to bed we went, 
Feverish with weary joints and beating minds. 
Ah ! is there one who ever has been young, 
Nor needs a warning voice to tame the pride 
Of intellect and virtue's self-esteem ? 
One is there, though the wisest and the best 
Of all mankind, who covets not at times 
Union that cannot be ; — who would not give 
If so he might, to duty and to truth 
The eagerness of infantine desire ? 
A tranquillising spirit presses now 
On my corporeal frame, so wide appears 
The vacancy between me and those days 
Which yet have such self-presence in my mind, 
That, musing on them, often do I seem 
Two consciousnesses, conscious of myself 
And of some other Being. A rude mass 
Of native rock, left midway in the square 
Of our small market village, was the goal 
Or centre of these sports ; and when, returned 
[ 32 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

After long absence, thither I repaired, 

Gone was the old grey stone, and in its place 

A smart Assembly-room usurped the ground 

That had been ours. There let the fiddle scream, 

And be ye happy ! Yet, my Friends ! I know 

That more than one of you will think with me 

Of those soft starry nights, and that old Dame 

From whom the stone was named, who there had sate, 

And watched her table with its huckster's wares 

Assiduous, through the length of sixty years. 

We ran a boisterous course ; the year span round 
With giddy motion. But the time approached 
That brought with it a regular desire 
For calmer pleasures, when the winning forms 
Of Nature were collaterally attached 
To every scheme of holiday delight 
And every boyish sport, less grateful else 
And languidly pursued. 

When summer came, 
Our pastime was, on bright half-holidays, 
To sweep along the plain of Windermere 
With rival oars ; and the selected bourne 
Was now an Island musical with birds ^ 
That sang and ceased not ; now a Sister Isle 
Beneath the oaks' umbrageous covert, sown 
With lilies of the valley like a field ; 
And now a third small Island, where survived 
In solitude the ruins of a shrine 
Once to Our Lady dedicate, and served 
3 [ 33 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Daily with chaunted rites. In such a race 

So ended, disappointment could be none, 

Uneasiness, or pain, or jealousy : 

We rested in -the shade, all pleased alike, 

Conquered and conqueror. Thus the pride of strength, 

And the vain-glory of superior skill, 

Were tempered ; thus was gradually produced 

A quiet independence of the heart : 

And to my Friend who knows me I may add, 

Fearless of blame, that hence for future days 

Ensued a diffidence and modesty, 

And I was taught to feel, .perhaps too much, 

The self-sufficing power of Solitude. 

Our daily meals were frugal, Sabine fare ! 
More than we wished we knew the blessing then 
Of vigorous hunger — hence corporeal strength 
Unsapped by delicate viands ; for, exclude 
A little weekly stipend, and we lived 
Through three divisions of the quartered year 
In penniless poverty. But now to school 
From the half-yearly holidays returned, 
We came with weightier purses, that sufficed 
To furnish treats more costly than the Dame 
Of the old grey stone, from her scant board, supplied. 
Hence rustic dinners on the cool green ground, 
Or in the woods, or by a river side 
Or shady fountains, while among the leaves 
Soft airs were stirring, and the mid-day sun 
Unfelt shone brightly round us in our joy. 

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THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Nor is my aim neglected if I tell 

How sometimes, in the length of those half-years, 

We from our funds drew largely ; — proud to curb, 

And eager to spur on, the galloping steed ; 

And with the courteous inn-keeper, whose stud 

Supplied our want, we haply might employ 

Sly subterfuge, if the adventure's bound 

Were distant : some famed temple where of yore 

The Druids worshipped, or the antique walls 

Of that large abbey, where within the Vale 

Of Nightshade, to St. Mary's honour built, 

Stands yet a mouldering pile with fractured arch, 

Belfry, and images, and living trees ; 

A holy scene ! — Along the smooth green turf 

Our horses grazed. To more than inland peace, 

Left by the west wind sweeping overhead 

From a tumultuous ocean, trees and towers 

In that sequestered valley may be seen, 

Both silent and both motionless alike ; 

Such the deep shelter that is there, and such 

The safeguard for repose and quietness. 

Our steeds remounted and the summons given, 
With whip and spur we through the chauntry new 
In uncouth race, and left the cross-legged knight, 
And the stone-abbot, and that single wren 
Which one day sang so sweetly in the nave 
Of the old church, that — though from recent showers 
The earth was comfortless, and, touched by faint 
Internal breezes, sobbings of the place 
[86 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

And respirations, from the roofless walls 

The shuddering ivy dripped large drops — yet still 

So sweetly ''mid the gloom the invisible bird 

Sang to herself, that there I could have made 

My dwelling-place, and lived for ever there 

To hear such music. Through the walls we flew 

And down the valley, and, a circuit made 

In wantonness of heart, through rough and smooth 

We scampered homewards. Oh, ye rocks and streams. 

And that still spirit shed from evening air ! 

Even in this joyous time I sometimes felt 

Your presence, when with slackened step we breathed 

Along the sides of the steep hills, or when 

Lighted by gleams of moonlight from the sea 

We beat with thundering hoofs the level sand. 

Midway on long Winander's eastern shore, 
Within the crescent of a pleasant bay, 
A tavern stood ; no homely featured house, 
Primeval like its neighbouring cottages, 
But 't was a splendid place, the door beset 
With chaises, grooms, and liveries, and within 
Decanters, glasses, and the blood-red wine. 
In ancient times, and ere the Hall was built 
On the large island, had this dwelling been 
More worthy of a poet's love, a hut, 
Proud of its own bright fire and sycamore shade. 
But — though the rhymes were gone that once inscribed 
The threshold, and large golden characters, 
Spread o'er the spangled sign-board, had dislodged 
[ 36 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

The old Lion and usurped his place, in slight 
And mockery of the rustic painter's hand — 
Yet, to this hour, the spot to me is dear 
With all its foolish pomp. The garden lay 
Upon a slope surmounted by a plain 
Of a small bowling-green ; beneath us stood 
A grove, with gleams of water through the trees 
And over the tree-tops ; nor did we want 
Eefreshment, strawberries and mellow cream. 
There, while through half an afternoon we played 
On the smooth platform, whether skill prevailed 
Or happy blunder triumphed, bursts of glee 
Made all the mountains ring. But, ere night-fall, 
When in our pinnace we returned at leisure 
Over the shadowy lake, and to the beach 
Of some small island steered our course with one, 
The Minstrel of the Troop, and left him there, 
And rode off gently, while lie blew his flute 
Alone upon the rock — oh, then, the calm 
And dead still water lay upon my mind 
Even with a weight of pleasure, and the sky, 
Never before so beautiful, sank down 
Into my heart, and held me like a dream ! 
Thus were my sympathies enlarged, and thus 
Daily the common range of visible things 
Grew dear to me : already I began 
To love the sun ; a boy I loved the sun, 
Not as I since have loved him, as a pledge 
And surety of our earthly life, a light 
Which we behold and feel we are alive ; 
[ 37 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Nor for his bounty to so many worlds — 
But for this cause, that I had seen him lay 
His beauty on the morning hills, had seen 
The western mountain touch his setting orb, 
In many a thoughtless hour, when, from excess 
Of happiness, my blood appeared to flow 
For its own pleasure, and I breathed with joy. 
And, from like feelings, humble though intense, 
To patriotic and domestic love 
Analogous, the moon to me was dear ; 
For I could dream away my purposes, 
Standing to gaze upon her while she hung 
Midway between the hills as if she knew 
No other region, but belonged to thee, 
Yea, appertained by a peculiar right 
To thee and thy grey huts, thou one dear Vale ! 

Those incidental charms which first attached 
My heart to rural objects, day by day 
Grew weaker, and I hasten on to tell 
How Nature, intervenient till this time 
And secondary, now at length was sought 
For her own sake. 

[morning walks] 

My morning walks 
Were early ; — oft before the hours of school 
I travelled round our little lake, five miles 
Of pleasant wandering. 

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THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Nor seldom did I lift our cottage latch 
Far earlier, ere one smoke-wreath had risen 
Prom human dwelling, or the vernal thrush 
Was audible ; and sate among the woods 
Alone upon some jutting eminence, 
At the first gleam of dawn-light, when the Yale, 
Yet slumbering, lay in utter solitude. 
How shall I seek the origin ? where find 
Faith in the marvellous things which then I felt ? 
Oft in these moments such a holy calm 
Would overspread my soul, that bodily eyes 
Were utterly forgotten, and what I saw 
Appeared like something in myself, a dream, 
A prospect in the mind. 

• ••••• 

[poetic visions] 

My seventeenth year was come, 
And whether from this habit rooted now 
So deeply in my mind, or from excess 
In the great social principle of life 
Coercing all things into sympathy, 
To unorganic natures were transferred 
My own enjoyments ; or the power of truth 
Coming in revelation, did converse 
With things that really are ; I, at this time, 
Saw blessings spread around me like a sea. 
Thus while the days flew by, and years passed on, 
From Nature and her overflowing soul, 
[ 39 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

I had received so much that all my thoughts 

Were steeped iu feeling ; I was only then 

Contented, when with bliss ineffable 

I felt the sentiment of Being spread 

O'er all that moves and all that seemeth still ; 

O'er all that, lost beyond the reach of thought 

And human knowledge, to the human eye 

Invisible, yet liveth to the heart ; 

O'er all that leaps and runs, and shouts and sings, 

Or beats the gladsome air ; o'er all that glides 

Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself, 

And mighty depth of waters. Wonder not 

If high the transport, great the joy I felt, 

Communing in this sort through earth and heaven 

With every form of creature, as it looked 

Towards the Uncreated with a countenance 

Of adoration, with an eye of love. 

One song they sang, and it was audible, 

Most audible, then, when the fleshly ear, 

Overcome by humblest prelude of that strain, 

Forgot her functions, and slept undisturbed. 

If this be error, and another faith 
Find easier access to the pious mind, 
Yet were I grossly destitute of all 
Those human sentiments that make this earth 
So dear, if I should fail with grateful voice 
To speak of you, ye mountains, and ye lakes 
And sounding cataracts, ye mists and winds 
That dwell among the hills where I was born. 
[ 40 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

If in my youth I have been pure in heart, 

If, mingling with. the world, I am content 

With my own modest pleasures, and have lived 

With God and Nature communing, removed 

From little enmities and low desires — 

The gift is yours ; if in these times of fear, 

This melancholy waste of hopes overthrown, 

If, 'mid indifference and apathy, 

And wicked exultation when good men 

On every side fall off, we know not how, 

To selfishness, disguised in gentle names 

Of peace and quiet and domestic love 

Yet mingled not unwillingly with sneers 

On visionary minds ; if, in this time 

Of dereliction and dismay, I yet 

Despair not of our nature, but retain 

A more than Eoman confidence, a faith 

That fails not, in all sorrow my support, 

The blessing of my life — the gift is yours, 

Ye winds and sounding cataracts ! 't is yours, 

Ye mountains ! thine, Nature ! Thou hast fed 

My lofty speculations ; and in thee, 

For this uneasy heart of ours, I find 

A never-failing principle of joy 

And purest passion. 



[ 41 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

FBOM DOBOTHY WOBDSWOBTH TO MISS 
JANE POLLABD 

Penrith [1787]. 
... I can bear the ill-nature of all my relations, for the 
affection of my brothers consoles me in all my griefs ; but 
how soon shall I be deprived of this consolation. They 
are so affectionate. . . . William and Christopher are very 
clever. . . . John, who is to be the sailor, has a most af- 
fectionate heart. He is not so bright as either William or 
Christopher, but he has very good common sense. . . . 
Bichard, the eldest, is equally affectionate and good, but 
he is far from being as clever as William. . . . Many a 
time have W., J., C, and myself shed tears together, tears 
of bitterest sorrow. We all of us feel each day the loss 
we sustained when we were deprived of our parents ; and 
each day do we receive fresh insults of the most mortifying 
kind, the insults of servants. . . . Uncle Kit (who is our 
guardian) cares little for us. . . . We have been told a 
thousand of times that we were liars. . . . W. has a wish 
to be a lawyer if his health will permit. . . . 

Dorothy Wordsworth. 



PEOM "THE PBELUDE," BOOK III 

[Cambridge] 

It was a dreary morning when the wheels 
Boiled over a wide plain overhung with clouds, 
And noil ting cheered our way till first we saw 
[ 42 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

The long-roofed chapel of King's College lift 
Turrets and pinnacles in answering files, 
Extended high above a dusky grove. 

Advancing, we espied upon the road 
A student clothed in gown and tasselled cap, 
Striding along as if overtasked by Time, 
Or covetous of exercise and air ; 
He passed — nor was I master of my eyes 
Till he was left an arrow's flight behind. 
As near and nearer to the spot we drew, 
It seemed to suck us in with an eddy's force. 
Onward we drove beneath the Castle ; caught, 
While crossing Magdalene Bridge, a glimpse of Cam ; 
And at the Hoop alighted, famous Inn. 

The Evangelist St. John my patron was : 
Three Gothic courts are his, and in the first 
Was my abiding-place, a nook obscure ; 
Eight underneath, the College kitchens made 
A humming sound, less tuneable than bees, 
But hardly less industrious ; with shrill notes 
Of sharp command and scolding intermixed. 
Near me hung Trinity's loquacious clock, 
Who never let the quarters, night or day, 
Slip by him uuproclaimed, and told the hours 
Twice over with a male and female voice. 
Her pealing organ was my neighbour too ; 
And from my pillow, looking forth by light 
Of moon or favouring stars, I could behold 
[ 43 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

The antechapel where the statue stood 
Of Newton with his prism and silent face, 
The marble index of a mind for ever 
Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone. 



[university life] 

• • • • • • 

Easily I passed 
From the remembrances of better things, 
And slipped into the ordinary works 
Of careless youth, unburthened, unalarmed. 
Caverns there were within my mind which sun 
Could never penetrate, yet did there not 
Want store of leafy arbours where the light 
Might enter in at will. Companionships, 
Friendships, acquaintances, were welcome all. 
We sauntered, played, or rioted ; we talked 
Unprofitable talk at morning hours ; 
Drifted about along the streets and walks, 
Bead lazily in trivial books, went forth 
To gallop through the country in blind zeal 
Of senseless horsemanship, or on the breast 
Of Cam sailed boisterously, and let the stars 
Come forth, perhaps without one quiet thought. 

Such was the tenor of the second act 
In this new life. Imagination slept, 
And yet not utterly. I could not print 
[ 44 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Ground where the grass had yielded to the steps 

Of generations of illustrious men, 

Unmoved. I could not always lightly pass 

Through the same gateways, sleep where they had slept, 

Wake where they waked, range that inclosure old, 

That garden of great intellects, undisturbed. 

Place also by the side of this dark sense 

Of noble feeling, that those spiritual men, 

Even the great Newton's own ethereal self, 

Seemed humbled in these precincts, thence to be 

The more endeared. Their several memories here 

(Even like their persons in their portraits clothed 

With the accustomed garb of daily life) 

Put on a lowly and a touching grace 

Of more distinct humanity, that left 

All genuine admiration unimpaired. 

Beside the pleasant Mill of Trompington 
I laughed with Chaucer in the hawthorn shade ; 
Heard him, while birds were warbling, tell his tales 
Of amorous passion. And that gentle Bard, 
Chosen by the Muses for their Page of State — 
Sweet Spenser, moving through his clouded heaven 
With the moon's beauty and the moon's soft pace, 
I called him Brother, Englishman, and Friend ! 
Yea, our blind Poet, who in his later day, 
Stood almost single ; uttering odious truth — 
Darkness before, and danger's voice behind, 
Soul awful — if the earth has ever lodged 
An awful soul — I seemed to see him here 

[ 45 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Familiarly, and in his scholar's dress 
Bounding before me, yet a stripling youth — 
A boy, no better, with his rosy cheeks 
Angelical, keen eye, courageous look, 
And conscious step of purity and pride. 
Among the band of my compeers was one 
"Whom chance had stationed in the very room 
Honoured by Milton's name. temperate Bard ! 
Be it confest that, for the first time, seated 
Within thy innocent lodge and oratory, 
One of a festive circle, I poured out 
Libations, to thy memory drank, till pride 
And gratitude grew dizzy in a brain 
Never excited by the fumes of wine 
Before that hour, or since. Then, forth I ran v 
From the assembly ; through a length of streets, 
Ban, ostrich-like, to reach our chapel door 
In not a desperate or opprobrious time, 
Albeit long after the importunate bell 
Had stopped, with wearisome Cassandra voice 
No longer haunting the dark winter night. 
Call back, O Friend ! a moment to thy mind, 
The place itself and fashion of the rites. 
With careless ostentation shouldering up 
My surplice, through the inferior throng I clove 
Of the plain Burghers, who in audience stood 
On the last skirts of their permitted ground, 
Under the pealing organ. Empty thoughts ! 
I am ashamed of them : and that great Bard, 
And thou, Friend ! who in thy ample mind 
[ 46] " 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Hast placed me high above my best deserts, 1 
Ye will forgive the weakness of that hour, 
In some of its unworthy vanities, 
Brother to many more. 



TO DOROTHY WOBDSWOBTH 

Sept. 6, 1790, Keswill. 
[A small village on the Lake of Constance.] 
• ••••• 

I have thought of you perpetually ; and never have my 
eyes burst upon a scene of particular loveliness but I have 
almost instantly wished that you could for a moment be 
transported to the place where I stood to enjoy it. . . . 

We are now upon the point of quitting these most sublime 
and beautiful parts; and you cannot imagine the melan- 
choly regret which I feel at the idea. I am a perfect 
enthusiast in my admiration of nature in all her various 
forms ; and I have looked upon, and, as it were, conversed 
with, the objects which this country has presented to my 
view so long, and with such increasing pleasure, that the 
idea of parting from them oppresses me with a sadness 
similar to that I have always felt in quitting a beloved 
friend. . . . But it is time to talk about England. When 

you write to my brothers, I must beg of you to give my 
love, and tell them I am sorry it has not been in my power 
to write to them. Kit will be surprised he has not heard 

1 Of the publication of Wordsworth's first volume of poems, Coleridge 
had said, " Seldom if ever was the emergence of an original poetic genius 
above the literary horizon more evideutly aunounced." 

[ 47 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

from me, as we were almost upon terms of regular corre- 
spondence. I had not heard from Richard for some time 
before I set out. I did not call upon him when I was in 
London ; not so much because we were determined to 
hurry through London, but because he, as many of our 
friends at Cambridge did, would look upon our scheme as 
mad and impracticable. I expect great pleasure, on my re- 
turn to Cambridge, in exulting over those of my friends who 
threatened us with such an accumulation of difficulties as 
must undoubtedly render it impossible for us to perform 
the tour. Everything, however, has succeeded with us far 
beyond my most sanguine expectations. We have, it is 
true, met with little disasters occasionally, but far from 
distressing, and they rather give us additional resolution 
and spirits. We have both enjoyed most excellent health ; 
and we have been so inured to walking, that we are be- 
come almost insensible to fatigue. We have several times 
performed a journey of thirteen leagues over the most 
mountainous parts of Switzerland without any more weari- 
ness thai; if we had been walking an hour in the groves of 
Cambridge. Our appearance is singular; and we have 
often observed that, in passing through a village, we have 
excited a general smile. Our coats, which we had made 
light on purpose for the journey, are of the same piece ; and 
our manner of carrying our bundles, which is upon our 
heads, with each an oak stick in our hands, contributes 
not a little to that general curiosity which we seem to 
excite. . . . You will remember me affectionately to my 
uncle and aunt ; as he was acquainted with my giving up 
thoughts of a fellowship, he may, perhaps, not be so much 
[ 48 ] 



Iff 

> ^ ^ 







THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

displeased at this journey. I should be sorry if I have 
offended him by it. I hope my little cousin is well. I 
must now bid you adieu, with assuring you that you are 
perpetually in my thoughts, and that 
I remain, 

Most affectionately yours, 

W. Wordsworth. 



FKOM "THE PRELUDE," BOOK IY 

[first college vacation and visit to hawkshead] 

Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps 
Followed each other till a dreary moor 
Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top 
Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, 
I overlooked the bed of Windermere, 
Like a vast river, stretching in the sun. 
With exultation, at my feet I saw 
Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming bays, 
A universe of Nature's fairest forms 
Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst, 
Magnificent, and beautiful, and gay. 
I bounded down the hill shouting amain 
For the old Ferryman ; to the shout the rocks 
Eeplied, and when the Charon of the flood 
Had staid his oars, and touched the jutting pier, 
I did not step into the well-known boat 
Without a cordial greeting. Thence with speed 
Up the familiar hill I took my way 
4 [ 49 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Towards that sweet Yalley where I had been reared ; 
'T was but a short hour's walk, ere veering round 
I saw the snow-white church upon her hill 
Sit like a throned Lady, sending out 
A gracious look all over her domain. 
Yon azure smoke betrays the lurking town ; 
With eager footsteps I advance and reach 
The cottage threshold where my journey closed. 
Glad welcome had I, with some tears, perhaps, 
From my old Dame, so kind and motherly, 
While she perused me with a parent's pride. 
The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew 
Upon thy grave, good creature ! While my heart 
Can beat never will I forget thy name. 
Heaven's blessing be upon thee where thou liest 
After thy innocent and busy stir • 

In narrow cares, thy little daily growth 
Of calm enjoyments, after eighty years, 
And more than eighty, of untroubled life ; 
Childless, yet by the strangers to thy blood 
Honoured with little less than filial love. 
What joy was mine to see thee once again, 
Thee and thy dwelling, and a crowd of things 
About its narrow precincts all beloved, 
And many of them seeming yet my own ! 
Why should I speak of what a thousand hearts 
Have felt, and every man alive can guess ? 
The rooms, the court, the garden were not left 
Long unsaluted, nor the sunny seat 
Bound the stone table under the dark pine, 
[ 50 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Friendly to studious or to festive hours ; 

Nor that unruly child of mountain birth, 

The famous brook, who, soon as he was boxed 

Within our garden, found himself at once, 

As if by trick insidious and unkind, 

Stripped of his voice and left to dimple down 

(Without an effort and without a will) 

A channel paved by man's officious care. 

I looked at him and smiled, and smiled again, 

And in the press of twenty thousand thoughts, 

" Ha," quoth I, " pretty prisoner, are you there ? " 

Well might sarcastic Fancy then have whispered, 

" An emblem here behold of thy own life ; 

In its late course of even days with all 

Their smooth enthralment " ; but the heart was full, 

Too full for that reproach. My aged Dame 

Walked proudly at my side : she guided me ; 

I willing, nay — nay, wishing to be led. 

— The face of every neighbour whom I met 

Was like a volume to me ; some were hailed 

Upon the road, some busy at their work, 

Unceremonious greetings interchanged 

With half the length of a long field between. 

Among my schoolfellows I scattered round 

Like recognitions, but with some constraint 

Attended, doubtless, with a little pride, 

But with more shame, for my habiliments, 

The transformation wrought by gay attire. 

Not less delighted did I take my place 

At our domestic table : and, dear Friend ! 

[ 51 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

In this endeavour simply to relate 

A Poet's history, may I leave untold 

The thankfulness with which I laid me down 

In my accustomed bed, more welcome now 

Perhaps than if it had been more desired 

Or been more often thought of with regret ; 

That lowly bed whence I had heard the wind 

Boar, and the rain beat hard ; where I so oft 

Had lain awake on summer nights to watch 

The moon in splendour couched among the leaves 

Of a tall ash, that near our cottage stood ; 

Had watched her with fixed eyes while to and fro 

In the dark summit of the waving tree 

She rocked with every impulse of the breeze. 

Among the favourites whom it pleased me well 
To see again, was one by ancient right 
Our inmate, a rough terrier of the hills ; 
By birth and call of nature pre-ordained 
To hunt the badger and unearth the fox 
Among the impervious crags, but having been 
From youth our own adopted, he had passed 
Into a gentler service. And when first 
The boyish spirit flagged, and day by day 
Along my veins I kindled with the stir, 
The fermentation, and the vernal heat 
Of poesy, affecting private shades 
Like a sick Lover, then this dog was used 
To watch me, an attendant and a friend, 
Obsequious to my steps early and late, 
[ 52 ] 




< 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Though often of such dilatory walk 

Tired, and uneasy at the halts I made. 

A hundred times when, roving high and low, 

I have been harassed with the toil of verse, 

Much pains and little progress, and at once 

Some lovely Image in the song rose up 

Full-formed, like Venus rising from the sea ; 

Then have I darted forwards to let loose 

My hand upon his back with stormy joy, 

Caressing him again and yet again. 

And when at evening on the public way 

I sauntered, like a river murmuring 

And talking to itself when all things else 

Are still, the creature trotted on before ; 

Such was his custom ; but whene'er he met 

A passenger approaching, he would turn 

To give me timely notice, and straightway, 

Grateful for that admonishment, I hushed 

My voice, composed my gait, and, with the air 

And mien of one whose thoughts are free, advanced 

To give and take a greeting that might save 

My name from piteous rumours, such as wait 

On men suspected to be crazed in brain. 

Those walks well worthy to be prized and loved - 
Regretted ! — that word, too, was on my tongue. 
But they were richly laden with all good, 
And cannot be remembered but with thanks 
And gratitude, and perfect joy of heart — 
Those walks in all their freshness now came back 
[ 53 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Like a returning Spring. When first I made 
Once more the circuit of our little lake. 
If ever happiness hath lodged with man, 
That day consummate happiness was mine, 
Wide-spreading, steady, calm, contemplative. 
The sun was set, or setting, when I left 
Our cottage door, and evening soon brought on 
A sober hour, not winning or serene, 
For cold and raw the air was, and untuned : 
But as a face we love is sweetest then 
When sorrow damps it, or, whatever look 
It chance to wear, is sweetest if the heart 
Have fulness in herself ; even so with me 
It fared that evening. Gently did my soul 
Put off her veil, and, self-transmuted, stood 
Naked, as in the presence of her God. 



[A ' ' DEDICATED SPIEIT " ; THE BAPTISMAL MOMENT] 

— I LOVED, 

Loved deeply all that had been loved before, 

More deeply even than ever : but a swarm 

Of heady schemes jostling each other, gawds, 

And feast and dance, and public revelry, 

And sports and games (too grateful in themselves, 

Yet in themselves less grateful, I believe, 

Than as they were a badge glossy and fresh 

Of manliness and freedom) all conspired 

To lure my mind from firm habitual quest 

[ 54 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Of feeding pleasures, to depress the zeal 

And damp those yearnings which had once been mine 

A wild, unworldly minded youth, given up 

To his own eager thoughts. It would demand 

Some skill, and longer time than may be spared 

To paint these vanities, and how they wrought 

In haunts where they, till now, had been unknown. 

It seemed the very garments that I wore 

Preyed on my strength, and stopped the quiet stream 

Of self-forgetfulness. 

Yes, that heartless chase 
Of trivial pleasures was a poor exchange 
For books and nature at that early age. 
'T is true, some casual knowledge might be gained 
Of character or life ; but at that time, 
Of manners put to school I took small note, 
And all my deeper passions lay elsewhere. 
Ear better had it been to exalt the mind 
By solitary study, to uphold 
Intense desire through meditative peace ; 
And yet, for chastisement of these regrets, 
The memory of one particular hour 
Doth here rise up against me. 'Mid a throng 
Of maids and youths, old men, and matrons staid, 
A medley of all tempers, I had passed 
The night in dancing, gaiety, and mirth, 
"With din of instruments and shuffling feet, 
And glancing forms, and tapers glittering, 
And unaimed prattle flying up and down ; 
Spirits upon the stretch, and here and there 
[ 55 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Slight shocks of young love-liking interspersed 
Whose transient pleasure mounted to the head, 
And tingled through the veins. Ere we retired, 
The cock had crowed, and now the eastern sky 
Was kindling, not unseen, from humble copse 
And open field, through which the pathway wound, 
And homeward led my steps. Magnificent 
The morning rose, in memorable pomp, 
Glorious as e'er I had beheld — in front, 
The sea lay laughing at a distance ; near, 
The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds, 
Grain -tinctured, drenched in empyrean light ; 
And in the meadows and the lower grounds 
Was all the sweetness of a common dawn — 
Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds, 
And labourers going forth to till the fields. 
Ah ! need I say, dear Friend ! that to the brim 
My heart was full : I made no vows, but vows 
Were then made for me ; bond unknown to me 
Was given, that I should be, else sinning greatly, 
A dedicated Spirit. On I walked 
In thankful blessedness, which yet survives. 

SONNETS 
INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE 

I 
Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, 
With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned — 
Albeit labouring for a scanty band 
[ 56 ] 



"O00F of King's College Chapel, 
Cambridge. 



" Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore 
Of nicely calculated less or more ; 
So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense 
These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 
Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells." 

— Inside of King's College Chapel, p. 57. 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Of white-robed Scholars only — this immense 

And glorious Work of fine intelligence ! 

Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore 

Of nicely calculated less or more ; 

So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense 

These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 

Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, 

Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 

Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die ; 

Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 

That they were born for immortality. 

II 

What awful perspective ! while from our sight 
With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide 
Their Portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed 
In the soft chequerings of a sleepy light. 
Martyr, or King," or sainted Eremite, 
Whoe'er ye be, that thus, yourselves unseen, 
Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen, 
Shine on, until ye fade with coming Night ! — 
But, from the arms of silence — list ! O list ! 
The music bursteth into second life ; 
The notes luxuriate, every stone is kissed 
By sound, or ghost of sound, in mazy strife ; 
Heart-thrilling strains, that cast, before the eye 
Of the devout, a veil of ecstasy ! 

Ill 

They dreamt not of a perishable home 

Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear 

[ 57 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here ; 
Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam : 
Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam 
Melts, if it cross the threshold ; where the wreath 
Of awe-struck wisdom droops : or let my path 
Lead to that younger Pile, whose sky-like dome 
Hath typified by reach of daring art 
Infinity's embrace ; whose guardian crest, 
The silent Cross, among the stars shall spread 
As now, when She hath also seen her breast 
Filled with mementos, satiate with its part 
Of grateful England's overflowing Dead. 



CATHEDRALS, ETC. 

Open your gates, ye everlasting Piles ! 

Types of the spiritual Church which God hath reared ; 

Not loth we quit the newly hallowed sward 

And humble altar, 'mid your sumptuous aisles 

To kneel, or thrid your intricate defiles, 

Or down the nave to pace in motion slow ; 

Watching, with upward eye, the tall tower grow 

And mount, at every step, with living wiles 

Instinct — to rouse the heart and lead the will 

By a bright ladder to the world above. 

Open your gates, ye Monuments of love 

Divine ! thou Lincoln, on thy sovereign hill ! 

Thou, stately York ! and Ye, whose splendours cheer 

Isis and Cam, to patient Science dear ! 

[ 58 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 



TO WILLIAM MATHEWS 1 

Plas-yn-llan, near Ruthin, 

Denbighshire, June 17, 1791. 
You will see by the date of this letter that I am in 
Wales, and whether you remember the place of Jones' 
residence or no, you will immediately conclude that I am 
with him. I quitted London about three weeks ago, where 
my time passed in a strange manner, sometimes whirled 
about by the vortex of its strenua inertia, and sometimes 
thrown by the eddy into a corner of the stream. Think 
not, however, that I had not many pleasant hours. . . . 
My time has been spent since I reached Wales in a very 
agreeable manner, and Jones and I intend to make a tour 
through its northern counties, — on foot, as you will easily 
suppose. 

FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH TO MISS 
POLLARD 

Forncett, Sunday Morning, June 26, 1791. 
• •»«.. 

I often hear from my brother William, who is now in 
Wales, where I think he seems so happy, that it is proba- 
ble he will remain there all summer, or a great part of it. 

. . . William, you may have heard, lost the chance (in- 
deed the certainty) of a fellowship, by not combating his 
inclinations. He gave way to his natural dislike to study 
so dry as many parts of mathematics, consequently could 

1 Mathews, Robert Jones, and Wordsworth were fellow -students at 
Cambridge. 

[ 59 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

not succeed at Cambridge. He reads Italian, Spanish, 
Greek, Latin, and English, but never opens a mathematical 
book. We promise ourselves much pleasure from reading 
Italian together at some time. He wishes that I was ac- 
quainted with the Italian poets. William has a great 
attachment to poetry; so indeed has Kit, but William 
particularly, which is not the most likely thing to produce 
his advancement in the world. His pleasures are chiefly 
of the imagination. He is never so happy as when in a 
beautiful country. Do not think in what I have said that 
he reads not at all, for he does read a great deal ; and not 
only poetry, and other languages he is acquainted with, 
but history, &c, &c. Kit has made a very good profi- 
ciency in learning. He is just seventeen. At October, 
'92, we shall lose him at Cambridge. . . . 



FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH TO MISS 
POLLARD 

Forncett, February 16th, 1793. 
Your letter found me happy in the society of one of my 
dear brothers. Christopher and I have been separated for 
nearly five years last Christmas. Judge then of my trans- 
ports at meeting him again. ... He is like William. He 
has the same traits in his character, but less highly touched. 
He is not so ardent in any of his pursuits, but is yet more par- 
ticularly attached to the same pursuits which have so irre- 
sistible an influence over William, which deprive him of the 
power of chaining his attention to others discordant to his 
feelings. Christopher is no despicable poet, but he can 
[ 60 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

become a mathematician also. He is not insensible to the 
beauty of the Greek and Latin classics, or any of the charms 
of elegant literature ; but he can draw his mind from these 
fascinating studies, to others less alluring. He is steady 
and sincere in his attachments. William has both these 
virtues in an eminent degree; and a sort of violence of 
affection, if I may so term it, which demonstrates itself 
every moment of the day, when the objects of his affection 
are present with him, in a thousand almost imperceptible 
attentions to their wishes, in a sort of restless watchfulness 
which I know not how to describe, a tenderness that never 
sleeps, and at the same time such a delicacy of manners 
as I have observed in few men. ... I hope you will 
spend at least a year with me. I have laid the particular 
scheme of happiness for each season. When I think of 
winter, I hasten to furnish our little parlour. I close the 
shutters, set out the tea-table, brighten the fire. When 
our refreshment is ended, I produce our work, and William 
brings his book to our table, and contributes at once to 
our instruction and amusement ; and at intervals we lay 
aside the book, and each hazard our observations upon 
what has been read, without the fear of ridicule or censure. 
We talk over past days. We do not sigh for any pleas- 
ures beyond our humble habitation. With such romantic 
dreams as these I amuse my fancy. . . . My brother and 
I have been endeared to each other by early misfortune. 
We in the same moment lost a father, a mother, a home. 
We have been equally deprived of our patrimony. . . . 
These afflictions have all contributed to unite us closer by 
the bonds of affection, notwithstanding we have been com- 
[ 61 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

pelled to spend our youth far asunder. " We drag at each 
remove a lengthening chain." This idea often strikes me 
very forcibly. Neither absence, nor distance, nor time, 
can ever break the chain that links me to my brothers. 
... By this time you have doubtless seen my brother 
William's poems. 1 . . . The scenes which he describes have 
been viewed with a poet's eye, and are pourtrayed with a 
poet's pencil, and the poems contain many passages ex- 
quisitely beautiful ; but they also contain many faults, the 
chief of which is obscurity, and a too frequent use of some 
particular expressions and uncommon words, for instance 
moveless, which he applies in a sense if not new, at least 
different from its ordinary one. By moveless, when ap- 
plied to the swan, he means that sort of motion which is 
smooth, without agitation ; it is a very beautiful epithet, 
but ought to have been cautiously used. He ought at any 
rate, only to have hazarded it once, instead of which it 
occurs three or four times. The word viewless also is in- 
troduced far too often. This, though not so uncommon a 
word as the former, ought not to have been made use of 
more than once or twice. I regret exceedingly that he did 
not submit these works to the inspection of some friend 
before their publication, and he also joins with me in this 
regret. Their faults are such as a young poet was most 
likely to fall into, and least likely to discover, and what 
the suggestions of a friend would easily have made him see, 
and at once correct. It is, however, an error he will never 
fall into again. . . . 

There are some very glaring faults, but I hope that you 

1 Wordsworth's first volume, called " An Evening Walk." 

[ 62 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

will discover many beauties, which could only have been 
created by the imagination of a poet. 



EROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH TO MISS 
POLLARD 

Forncett [1793]. 
The evening is a lovely one, and I have strolled into a 
neighbouring meadow, where I am enjoying the melody of 
birds, and the busy sounds of a fine summer's evening, 
while my eye is gratified by a smiling prospect of cultivated 
fields richly wooded, our own church, and the parsonage 
house. . . . William is now going upon a tour to the 
West of England, along with a gentleman who was formerly 
a schoolfellow, 1 a man of fortune, who is to bear all the 
expense of the journey, and only requests the favour of 
William's company. . . . My brother's tour will not be 
completed till October. . . . This favourite brother of 
mine happens to be no favourite with any of his near 
relations, except his brothers, by whom he is adored, I 
mean by John and Christopher. . . . 

PROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH TO 
MISS POLLARD 

Forncett, June 16, Sunday Morning, 1793. 

I often hear from my dear brother William. I am 
very anxious about him just now, as he has not yet got an 
employment. He is looking out, and wishing for the 

1 William Calvert. 

[ 63 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

opportunity of engaging himself as tutor to some young 
gentleman, an office for which he is peculiarly well quali- 
fied. ... I cannot describe his attention to me. There 
was no pleasure that he would not have given up with joy 
for half an hour's conversation with me. It was in winter 
(at Christmas) that he was last at Forncett; and every 
day, as soon as we rose from dinner, we used to pace the 
gravel walk in the garden till six o'clock, when we received 
summons (which was always welcome) to tea. Nothing 
but rain or snow prevented our taking this walk. Often 
have I gone out, when the keenest north wind has been 
whistling amongst the trees over our head, and have paced 
that walk in the garden, which will always be dear to me 
— from the remembrance of those very long conversations 
I have had upon it supported by my brother's arm. Ah ! 
I never thought of the cold when he was with me. I am 
as heretical as yourself in my opinions concerning love and 
friendship. I am very sure that love will never bind me 
closer to any human being than friendship binds me to 
you, my earliest friends, and to William, my earliest and 
my dearest male friend. . . . 

Dorothy Wordsworth. 



FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH TO 
MISS POLLARD 

Windy Brow, near Keswick [1794], 
Since I wrote to 1 walked from Grasmere to Kes- 
wick, 13 miles, and at Keswick I still remain. I have 
been so much delighted with the people of this house, with 
[ 64 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

its situation, with the cheapness of living, and above all 
with the opportunity which I have of enjoying my brother's 
company, that although on my arrival I only talked of 
staying a few days, I have already been here above a fort- 
night, and intend staying still a few weeks longer, perhaps 
three or four. You cannot conceive anything more de- 
lightful than the situation of this house. It stands upon 
the top of a very steep bank, which rises in a direction 
nearly perpendicular from a dashing stream below. From 
the window of the room where I write, I have a prospect 
of the wood winding along the opposite banks of this river, 
of a part of the Lake of Keswick and the town, and tower- 
ing above the town a woody steep of a very considerable 
height, whose summit is a long range of silver rocks. 
This is the view from the house, but a hundred yards 
above it is impossible to describe its grandeur. There is a 
natural terrace along the side of the mountain, which 
shelters Windybrow, whence we command a view of the 
whole vale of Keswick (the Yale of Elysium, as Mr Gray 
calls it). This vale is terminated at one end by a huge 
pile of grand mountains, in whose lap the lovely Lake of 
Derwent is placed; at the other end by the Lake of Bas- 
senthwaite, on one side of which Skiddaw towers sublime, 
and on the other a range of mountains, not of equal size, 
but of much grandeur ; and the middle part of the vale is 
of beautiful cultivated grounds, interspersed with cottages, 
and watered by a winding stream which runs between the 
Lakes of Derwent "and Bassenthwaite. I have never been 
more delighted with the manners of any people than of the 
family under whose roof I am at present. They are the 
6 [ 65 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

most honest, sensible people I ever saw in their rank of 
life, and I think I may safely affirm, happier than anybody 
I know. They are contented with a supply of the bare 
necessaries of life, are active and industrious, and declare 
with simple frankness, unmixed with ostentation, that they 
prefer their cottage at Windy Brow to any of the showy 
edifices in the neighbourhood, and they believe that there 
is not to be found in the whole vale a happier family than 
they are. They are fond of reading, and reason not indif- 
ferently on what they read. We have a neat parlour to 
ourselves, which Mr Calvert has fitted up for his own use, 
and the lodging rooms are very comfortable. Till my 
brother gets some employment he will lodge here. Mr 
Calvert is not now at Windy Brow, as you will suppose. 
We please ourselves in calculating from our present ex- 
penses for how very small a sum we could live. We find 
our own food. Our breakfast and supper are of milk, and 
our dinner chiefly of potatoes, and we drink no tea. We 
have received great civilities from many very pleasant 
families, particularly from a Mr Spedding of Armath- 
waite, at whose house you may recollect my brother was 
staying before he went to Halifax. Mr Spedding has two 
daughters, who are in every respect charming women. 
. . . They live in the most delightful place that ever 
was beheld. We have been staying there three nights. 
William is very intimate with the eldest son. 



[ 66 ] 






^ 2 



<- ^ 



°* S. 




QQ 



3 O 

5: « 



OQ 



Of 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

TO WILLIAM MATHEWS 

Whitehaven, May, 1794. 

I am at present nearly at leisure — I say nearly, for I 
am not quite so, as I am correcting and considerably add- 
ing to, those poems which I published in your absence. l 
It was with great reluctance that I sent those two little 
works into the world in so imperfect a state. But as I 
had done nothing by which to distinguish myself at the 
university, I thought these little things might show I 
could do something. They have been treated with un- 
merited contempt by some of the periodicals, and others 
have spoken in higher terms than they deserve. 



FROM "THE PRELUDE," BOOK V 

[tribute to books, especially to fiction and poetry] 

. . . Yet is it just 
That here, in memory of all books which lay 
Their sure foundations in the heart of man, 
Whether by native prose, or numerous verse, 
That in the name of all inspired souls — 
Erom Homer the great Thunderer, from the voice 
That roars along the bed of Jewish song, 
And that more varied and elaborate, 
Those trumpet-tones of harmony that shake 

1 " The Evening Walk " and " Descriptive Sketches." 

[ 67 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Our shores in England, — from those loftiest notes 

Down to the low and wren-like warblings, made 

For cottagers and spinners at the wheel, 

And sun-burnt travellers resting their tired limbs, 

Stretched under wayside hedge-rows, ballad tunes, 

Food for the hungry ears of little ones, 

And of old men who have survived their joys — 

'Tis just that in behalf of these, the works, 

And of the men that framed them, whether known 

Or sleeping nameless in their scattered graves, 

That I should here assert their rights, attest 

Their honours, and should, once for all, pronounce 

Their benediction ; speak of them as Powers 

For ever to be hallowed ; only less, 

For what we are and what we may become, 

Than Nature's self, which is the breath of God, 

Or His pure Word by miracle revealed. 

Barely and with reluctance would I stoop 
To transitory themes ; yet I rejoice, 
And, by these thoughts admonished, will pour out 
Thanks with uplifted heart, that I was reared 
Safe from an evil which these days have laid 
Upon the children of the land, a pest 
That might have dried me up, body and soul. 
This verse is dedicate to Nature's self, 
And things that teach as Nature teaches : then, 
Oh ! where had been the Man, the Poet where, 
Where had we been, we two, beloved Friend ! 
If in the season of unperilous choice, 
[ 68 ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

In lieu of wandering, as we did, through vales 

Rich with indigenous produce, open ground 

Of Fancy, happy pastures ranged at will, 

We had been followed, hourly watched, and noosed, 

Each in his several melancholy walk 

Stringed like a poor man's heifer at its feed, 

Led through the lanes in forlorn servitude ; 

Or rather like a stalled ox debarred 

From touch of growing grass, that may not taste 

A flower till it have yielded up its sweets 

A prelibation to the mower's scythe. 

A gracious spirit o'er this earth presides, 
And o'er the heart of man ; invisibly 
It comes, to works of unreproved delight, 
And tendency benign, directing those 
Who care not, know not, think not, what they do. 
The tales that charm away the wakeful night 
In Araby ; romances ; legends penned 
For solace by dim light of monkish lamps ; 
Fictions, for ladies of their love, devised 
By youthful squires ; adventures endless, spun 
By the dismantled warrior in old age, 
Out of the bowels of those very schemes 
In which his youth did first extravagate ; 
These spread like day, and something in the shape 
Of these will live till man shall be no more. 
Dumb yearnings, hidden appetites, are ours, 
And they must have their food. Our childhood sits, 
Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne 
[ 69 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

That hath more power than all the elements. 

I guess not what this tells of Being past, 

Nor what it augurs of the life to come ; 

But so it is ; and, in that dubious hour — 

That twilight — when we first begin to see 

This dawning earth, to recognise, expect, 

And, in the long probation that ensues, 

The time of trial, ere we learn to live 

In reconcilement with our stinted powers ; 

To endure this state of meagre vassalage, 

Unwilling to forego, confess, submit, 

Uneasy and unsettled, yoke-fellows 

To custom, mettlesome, and not yet tamed 

And humbled down — oh ! then we feel, we feel, 

We know where we have friends. Ye dreamers, then, 

Forgers of daring tales ! we bless you then, 

Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape 

Philosophy will call you : then we feel 

With what, and how great might ye are in league, 

Who make our wish, our power, our thought a deed, 

An empire, a possession, — ye whom time 

And seasons serve ; all Faculties to whom 

Earth crouches, the elements are potter's clay, 

Space like a heaven filled up with northern lights, 

Here, nowhere, there, and everywhere at once. 

Eelinquishing this lofty eminence 
For ground, though humbler, not the less a tract 
Of the same isthmus, which our spirits cross 
In progress from their native continent 
[ TO ] 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

To earth and human life, the Song might dwell 

On that delightful time of growing youth, 

When craving for the marvellous gives way 

To strengthening love for things that we have seen ; 

When sober truth and steady sympathies, 

Offered to notice by less daring pens, 

Take firmer hold of us, and words themselves 

Move us with conscious pleasure. 

I am sad 
At thought of rapture now for ever flown ; 
Almost to tears I sometimes could be sad 
To think of, to read over, many a page, 
Poems withal of name, which at that time 
Did never fail to entrance me, and are now 
Dead in my eyes, dead as a theatre 
Fresh emptied of spectators. Twice five years 
Or less I might have seen, when first my mind 
With conscious pleasure opened to the charm 
Of words in tuneful order, found them sweet 
For their own sakes, a passion, and a power ; 
And phrases pleased me chosen for delight, 
For pomp, or love. Oft, in the public roads 
Yet unfrequented, while the morning light 
Was yellowing the hill tops, I went abroad 
With a dear friend, and for the better part 
Of two delightful hours we strolled along 
By the still borders of the misty lake, 
Eepeating favourite verses with one voice, 
Or conning more, as happy as the birds 
That round us chaunted. Well might we be glad, 

[ 71 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Lifted above the ground by airy fancies, 

More bright than madness or the dreams of wine ; 

And, though full oft the objects of our love 

Were false, and in their splendour overwrought, 

Yet was there surely then no vulgar power 

Working within us, — nothing less, in truth, 

Than that most noble attribute of man, 

Though yet untutored and inordinate, 

That wish for something loftier, more adorned, 

Than is the common aspect, daily garb, 

Of human life. What wonder, then, if sounds 

Of exultation echoed through the groves ! 

For, images, and sentiments, and words, 

And everything encountered or pursued 

In that delicious world of poesy, 

Kept holiday, a never-ending show, 

With music, incense, festival, and flowers ! 

Here must we pause : this only let me add, 
Prom heart-experience, and in humblest sense 
Of modesty, that he, who in his youth 
A daily wanderer among woods and fields 
With living Nature hath been intimate, 
Not only in that raw unpractised time 
Is stirred to ecstasy, as others are, 
By glittering verse ; but further, doth receive, 
In measure only dealt out to himself, 
Knowledge and increase of enduring joy 
From the great Nature that exists in works 
Of mighty Poets. Visionary power 

[ ™ ] 



a ^ 



t * a 

Si? 







a 

o 

act 



THE YEARS 1770 TO 1795 

Attends the motions of the viewless winds, 
Embodied in the mystery of words : 
There, darkness makes abode, and all the host 
Of shadowy things work endless changes, — there, 
As in a mansion like their proper home, 
Even forms and substances are circumfused 
By that transparent veil with light divine, 
And, through the turnings intricate of verse, 
Present themselves as objects recognised, 
In flashes, and with glory not their own. 



FEOM DOEOTHY WOEDSWOETH TO MISS 
POLLAED (NOW MES. MAESHALL) 

Millhouse, September 2, 1795. 

I am going to live in Dorsetshire. . . . You know 
the pleasure I have always attached to the idea of home, a 
blessing which I have so early lost. ... I think I told 
you that Mr Montagu had a little boy, who, as you will 
perceive, could not be very well taken care of, either in his 
father's chambers, or under the uncertain management of 
various friends of Mr M., with whom he has frequently 
stayed. ... A daughter of Mr Tom Myers (a cousin of 
mine whom I daresay you have heard me mention) is com- 
ing over to England by the first ship, which is expected in 
about a week, to be educated. She is, I believe, about 
three or four years old, and T. Myers' brother, who has 
charge of her, has suggested that I should take her under 
my care. With these two children, and the produce of 
[ ™ ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Baisley Calvert's legacy, we shall have an income of at 
least £70 or £80 per annum. William finds that he cau 
get nine per cent, for the money upon the best security. 
He means to sink half of it upon my life, which will make 
me always comfortable and independent. . . . Living in 
the unsettled way in which my brother has hitherto lived 
in London is altogether unfavourable to mental exertion. 
... He has had the oner of ten guineas for a work which 
has not taken up much time, and half the profits of a second 
edition if it should be called for. It is a little sum ; but it 
is one step. . . . I am determined to work with resolution. 
It will greatly contribute to my happiness, and place me 
in such a situation that I shall be doing something. . . . 
I shall have to join William at Bristol, and proceed thence 
in a chaise with Basil 1 to Racedown. It is fifty miles. 

Dorothy Wordsworth. 

1 Basil Montagu, the "little boy " mentioned above. 



[ 74 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

RACEDOWN: ALFOXDEN 
INTRODUCTORY 

M \URING these years of .storm and stress, when 
JL_^J so few heard Wordsworth' $ voice aright, there 
was one man, RaisHey Calvert, who recognized 
its power and resolved that It should have a chance to 
utter itself. On his death m 1796 it was found that 
he had left to Wordsworth a legacy of nine hundred 
pounds. Small as the sum sums, it was enough to 
justify his long-deferred dream of making a home 
for himself and his sister; for the first time liberty 
and leisure were at his command Now began that 

life of plain living and high thinking, so congenial to 

the Wordsworths that they never afterwards departed 
greatly from it. 

It was almost an aeeident that determined their 

particular location, A local merchant of Bristol, Mr. 

Finney, had a country house at Racedown, Dorset- 
shire, which he had given over to his son and which the 

son in turn HOW gave over to Wordsworth, with furni- 
ture, orchard, and gardens, free of rent, on condition 
that the young man might occasionally come down for 
a few weeks at a time. The garden, cultivated by 
[ 75 ] *" 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Wordsworth himself, supplied the principal food of 
the family, while £50 a year received for the board and 
teaching of the son of a London barrister supplemented 
the slender income. Here Wordsworth wrote " Guilt 
and Sorrow,' 9 " The Borderers " and a number of short 
poems. It was a happy time for the long-separated 
brother and sister, and years afterward Dorothy 
wrote of it as " the place dearest to my recollections 
upon the whole surface of the island, the first home 
/ ever had." But there are few traces of locality 
in the poems, beyond the description of the ruined 
cottage, and the general scenery of Book I of " The 
Excursion." Dorsetshire downs rise plainly to the 
eye when we read: 

" 'T was summer, and the sun had mounted high ; 
Southward the landscape indistinctly glared 
Through a pale stream ; hut all the northern downs 
In clearest air ascending, showed far off 
A surface dappled o'er with shadows flung 
From brooding clouds." 

The real epoch-making event of these two years m 
Dorsetshire occurred when Coleridge came down from 
Bristol to visit them, m June, 1797. Wordsworth read 
to Coleridge " The Borderers," and Coleridge read to 
Wordsworth " Orsorio, a Tragedy," and they walked 
and talked and sat up far into the night in order to 
have more time for talk, and thus began the friendship 
which later meant so much in both lives. Brother 
and sister returned the visit in the following month 
at Coleridge's home in Nether-Stowey, among the 
[76 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

Quant ock Hills, Somersetshire. Dorothy's feelmg 
about this region and this visit is thus recorded: 
" There is everything here; sea, woods, wild as fancy 
ever painted, brooks clear and pebbly as in Cumberland, 
villages so romantic; and William and I, in a wander 
by ourselves, found out a sequestered waterfall m a 
d€ll formed by steep hills covered with full-grown tim- 
ber trees. The woods are as fine as those of Lowther, 
and the country more romantic." To live in so charm- 
ing a country and at the same t'vme to have Coleridge 
as a neighbor appealed to both guests as so highly 
desirable that they seem not even to have returned to 
the Dorsetshire farm. It happened that a fine old 
mansion house known as Alfoxden (now commonly 
called Alfoxton), just beyond the glen described by 
Dorothy, was for rent. Seeing this beautiful country 
residence to-day with its fine appointments, stables, 
gardens, etc.; its stately approach bordered with mag- 
nificent beeches and elms and set m its background of 
park, hill-side, and holly-grove, one is amazed at the 
thought of so much luxury as possible to the im- 
pecunious Wordsworths. Doubtless the place was less 
imposing then, and, the owner being in his minority, it 
was offered at the ridiculously paltry sum of £23 per 
year. Never, perhaps, were Arcadia and Academus 
combined at so small an outlay. Here were written 
many of Wordsworth's most charming minor poems, 
and here, conjointly with Coleridge, was planned and 
executed that book so ridiculed at the time, but since 
[ 7? ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

recognized as one of the most epoch-making in the 
whole history of poetry — " Lyrical Ballads." 

It is quite a sore point with the Somerset folk to-day 
that Wordsworth did not make their region famous, 
as he has the Lake Country, by localizing the places 
and incidents which served him for inspiration. For 
example, " Lines written in Early Spring," " A 
Vfhirl-Blast from behind the Hill," " To My Sister" 
" Ruth," etc., are full of the Somerset scenery and 
atmosphere for those who know the Quantock Hills. 
One passage in " The Prelude" (p. 116) does indeed 
celebrate the wonderful walking-trip made by the two 
poets (with Dorothy keeping step both physically and 
poetically) over the hills to Watchet and thence to the 
Valley of Rocks near Lynton; 

"That summer, under whose indulgent skies, 
Upon smooth Quantock's airy ridge we roved 
Unchecked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs." 

Wordsworth always looked back upon these Alf ox- 
den days with keenest pleasure. And well he might, 
since seldom has been known a group of choicer spirits 
than those who came and went or stayed in this little 
corner of Somerset in the closing years of the eigh- 
teenth century. Charles Lamb, seeking this retreat 
after the great sorrow which always continued to over- 
shadow his life; Charles Lloyd, the son of a rich Bir- 
mingham banker, rejecting a life of pleasure to devote 
himself to poetry and the pursuit of truth; John 
Thelwell, the intrepid democrat from London; Thomas 
[ 78 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

Cottle, poet and publisher, who came from Bristol to 
hear the poets read their verses, and afterwards pub- 
lished them to his own great loss; Thomas Poole, a 
Somerset farmer of plain exterior, but a wonderful 
example of the thoroughly developed man, and the 
magnet that had at first attracted Coleridge, and 
through him the rest of this brilliant group. So sin- 
cere and intimate was the daily companionship of 
Wordsworth, Dorothy, and Coleridge that Coleridge 
said " We are three people but only one soul." 

Yet one must beware of thinkmg that this unity of 
understanding meant any weak yielding of individ- 
ualities. A sympathetic writer x has stated the case 
truly: — "No two men could be more unlike than the 
two poets who now met beside the Quant ocks. Cole- 
ridge, a student and recluse from his boyhood, of im- 
mense erudition, all his life a valetudinarian, who 
scarcely knew what health was, ever planning mighty 
works, yet so irresolute and infirm of purpose as 
never to realize his aspirations, the very Hamlet 
of literature; Wordsworth, on the other hand, — 
as robust in body as one of the peasants of his 
native Cumberland, of indomitable purpose, keeping 
his way right onward when made the scorn of fools, 
till he became the glory of his age — was no reader 
of books, except of the great book of Nature, and his 
study was on the Quantock downs." 

1 Rev. W. L. Nichols. 

[ 79 1 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

The Wordsworth residence at Alfoxden lasted only 
about one year. As a tenant, he was regarded with 
suspicion, not only because of his habit of wandering 
round and muttering to himself, but because he was 
so continually surrounded by groups of persons who 
talked of queer and mysterious things. The trustees of 
the property terminated the lease, and in June, 1798, 
the Wordsworths left Alfoxden, spending one week 
with Coleridge m N ether-Stow ey, another in Bristol 
with the publisher Cottle, arranging details for the 
forthcoming " Lyrical Ballads." TJiey then started 
for that ramble along the Wye in which the " Lines on 
Tintern Abbey " took shape, and of which Words- 
worth said: " No poem of mine was composed under 
circumstances more pleasant for me to remember than 
this. I began it upon leaving Tintern, after crossing 
the Wye, and concluded it just as I was entering Bris- 
tol m the evening, after a ramble of four or five days 
with my sister. Not a line of it was altered, and not 
any part of it written down till I reached Bristol." 

In September, the trio of friends decided to spend 
the Winter in Germany. The object of Coleridge was 
to learn the German language; of Wordsworth to 
study natural history. His interest in science, at this 
time, seems to have been very great, and to have con- 
tinued for several years. He was one of the first to 
foresee what has since come to pass, — the time when 
" what is now called science shall be ready to put on, as 
it were, a form of flesh and blood." 
[ 80 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

The poems written during the stay of about jive 
months m Germany show that his thoughts often 
turned to his native land. But perhaps the most sig- 
nificant event was that here he resolved to make a 
searching review of his mental history from his youth 
to the present moment, in order to determine whether 
he was fitted to devote himself to poetry. The poem 
now begun was not published until the year after his 
death, when it was brought out by Mrs. Wordsworth 
and named by her " The Prelude." His reasons should 
silence those who criticise it as the work of a self- 
conceited man: — 

" my hope has been that I might fetch 
Invigorating thoughts from former years ; 
Might fix the wavering balance of my mind 
And haply meet reproaches too, wlwse power 
May spur me on, in manhood now mature, 
To honourable toil." 



[81 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

TO THE MEMORY OF RAISLEY CALVERT 1 

Calvert ! it must not be unheard by them 
Who may respect my name, that I to thee 
Owed many years of early liberty. 
This care was thine when sickness did condemn 
Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem — 
That I, if frugal and severe, might stray 
Where'er I liked ; and finally array 
My temples with the Muse's diadem. 
Hence, if in freedom I have loved the truth ; 
If there be aught of pure, or good, or great 
In my past verse ; or shall be, in the lays 
Of higher mood, which now I meditate ; — 
It gladdens me, worthy, short-lived Youth ! 
To think how much of this will be thy praise. 



FROM "THE PRELUDE/' BOOK XI 
[the poet's tribute to his sister] 

• ••••• 

Somewhat stern 
In temperament, withal a happy man, 
And therefore bold to look on painful things, 
Free likewise of the world, and thence more bold, 
I summoned my best skill, and toiled, intent 
To anatomise the frame of social life ; 
Yea, the whole body of society 

1 Calvert died in 1795 ; sonnet composed in 1806. 

[ 83 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Searched to its heart. Share with me, Friend ! the wish 

That some dramatic tale, endued with shapes 

Livelier, and flinging out less guarded words 

Than suit the work we fashion, might set forth 

What then I learned, or think I learned, of truth, 

And the errors into which I fell, betrayed 

By present objects, and by reasonings false 

From their beginnings, inasmuch as drawn 

Out of a heart that had been turned aside 

From Nature's way by outward accidents, 

And which was thus confounded, more and more 

Misguided, and misguiding. So I fared, 

Dragging all precepts, judgments, maxims, creeds, 

Like culprits to the bar ; calling the mind, 

Suspiciously, to establish in plain day 

Her titles and her honours ; now believing, 

Now disbelieving ; endlessly perplexed 

With impulse, motive, right and wrong, the ground 

Of obligation, what the rule and whence 

The sanction ; till, demanding formal proof, 

And seeking it in every thing, I lost 

All feeling of conviction, and, in fine, 

Sick, wearied out with contrarieties, 

Yielded up moral questions in despair. 

This was the crisis of that strong disease, 
This the soul's last and lowest ebb ; I drooped, 
Deeming our blessed reason of least use 
Where wanted most : " The lordly attributes 
Of will and choice/' I bitterly exclaimed, 
[ 84 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

" What are they but a mockery of a Being 

Who hath in no concerns of his a test 

Of good and evil ; knows not what to fear 

Or hope for, what to covet or to shun ; 

And who, if those could be discerned, would yet 

Be little profited, would see, and ask 

Where is the obligation to enforce ? 

And, to acknowledged law rebellious, still, 

As selfish passion urged, would act amiss ; 

The dupe of folly, or the slave of crime." 

Depressed, bewildered thus, I did not walk 
With scoffers, seeking light and gay revenge 
From indiscriminate laughter, nor sate down 
In reconcilement with an utter waste 
Of intellect ; such sloth I could not brook, 
(Too well I loved, in that my spring of life, 
Pains-taking thoughts, and truth, their dear reward) 
But turned to abstract science, and there sought 
Work for the reasoning faculty enthroned 
Where the disturbances of space and time — 
Whether in matters various, properties 
Inherent, or from human will and power 
Derived — find no admission. Then it was — 
Thanks to the bounteous Giver of all good ! — 
That the beloved Sister in whose sight 
Those days were passed, now speaking in a voice 
Of sudden admonition — like a brook 
That did but cross a lonely road, and now 
Is seen, heard, felt, and caught at every turn, 
[ 85 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Companion never lost through many a league — 

Maintained for me a saving intercourse 

With my true self ; for, though bedimmed and changed 

Much, as it seemed, I was no further changed 

Than as a clouded and a waning moon : 

She whispered still that brightness would return ; 

She, in the midst of all, preserved me still 

A Poet, made me seek beneath that name, 

And that alone, my office upon earth ; 

And, lastly, as hereafter will be shown, 

If willing audience fail not, Nature's self, 

By all varieties of human love 

Assisted, led me back through opening day 

To those sweet counsels between head and heart 

Whence grew that genuine knowledge, fraught with peace, 

Which, through the later sinkings of this cause, 

Hath still upheld me, and upholds me now 

In the catastrophe (for so they dream, 

And nothing less), when, finally to close 

And seal up all the gains of France, a Pope 

Is summoned in, to crown an Emperor * — 

This last opprobrium, when we see a people, 

That once looked up in faith, as if to Heaven 

Por manna, take a lesson from the dog 

Eeturning to his vomit ; when the sun 

That rose in splendour, was alive, and moved 

In exultation with a living pomp 

Of clouds — his glory's natural retinue — 

1 Buonaparte summoned the Pope to anoint him Emperor of France 
in 1804. 

t 86 ] 



TDORTRAIT of Dorothy Wordsworth at the age of sixty-two. 




; She, in the midst of all, preserved me still 
A Poet, made me seek beneath that name, 
And that alone, my office upon earth." 

— The Prelude, Book xi, p. 8G. 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

Hath dropped all functions by the gods bestowed, 
And, turned into a gewgaw, a machine, 
Sets like an Opera phantom. 

Thus, O Friend ! 
Through times of honour and through times of shame 
Descending, have I faithfully retraced 
The perturbations of a youthful mind 
Under a long-lived storm of great events — 
A story destined for thy ear, who now, 
Among the fallen of nations, dost abide 
Where Etna, over hill and valley, casts 
His shadow stretching towards Syracuse, 1 
The city of Timoleon ! Eighteous Heaven ! 
How are the mighty prostrated ! They first, 
They first of all that breathe should have awaked 
When the great voice was heard from out the tombs 
Of ancient heroes. If I suffered grief 
For ill- requited France, by many deemed 
A trifler only in her proudest day ; 
Have been distressed to think of what she once 
Promised, now is ; a far more sober cause 
Thine eyes must see of sorrow in a land, 
To the reanimating influence lost 
Of memory, to virtue lost and hope, 
Though with the wreck of loftier years bestrewn. 

But indignation works where hope is not, 
And thou, O Friend ! wilt be refreshed. 

1 Coleridge was now in Sicily. Timoleon, after reducing Sicily to order, 
refused all titles and lived as a private citizen. 

[87 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

There is 
One great society alone on earth : 
The noble Living and the noble Dead. 

TO FEANCIS WEANGHAM 1 

Eacedown, November 20th, 1795. 
... I have a poem 2 which I should wish to dispose 
of, provided I should get anything for it. Its object is 
partly to expose the vices of the penal law, and the calam- 
ities of war as they affect individuals. ... As to your 
promoting my interest in the way of pupils, upon a review 
of my own attainments, I think there is so little that I am 
able to teach that this may be suffered to fly quietly away 
to the paradise of fools. . . . The copy of the poem 3 you 
will contrive to frank, else ten to one I shall not be able 
to release it from the post-office. I have lately been living 
upon air and the essence of carrots, cabbages, turnips, and 
other esculent vegetables, not excluding parsley, — the 
produce of my garden. 

EEOM DOEOTHY WOEDSWOETH TO 
MES. MAESHALL 

Racedown, November 30th, 1795. 
. . . We walk about two hours every morning. We 
have very pleasant walks about us ; and what is a great 
advantage, the roads are of a sandy kind, and are almost 

1 A fellow-student at Cambridge ; later Archdeacon of Chester. 

2 "Guilt and Sorrow." 

8 "Juvenal's Satires"; Wordsworth had planned to write some imi- 
tations of Juvenal, for a volume of satirical pieces to be written jointly with 
Wrangham. The scheme was abandoned later. 

[ 88 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

always dry. We can see the sea, 150 or 200 yards from 
the door ; and at a little distance we have a very extensive 
view terminated by the sea, seen through different open- 
ings of the unequal hills. We have not the warmth and 
luxuriance of Devonshire, though there is no want either 
of wood, or of cultivation ; but the trees appear to suffer 
from the sea-blasts. We have hills which, seen from a 
distance, almost take the character of mountains, some 
cultivated nearly to their summits; others in their wild 
state, covered with furze and broom. These delight me 
most, as they remind me of our native wilds. Our com- 
mon parlour is the prettiest little room that can be. . . . 



FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH TO A FRIEND, 
AFTER A "VISIT AT RACEDOWN 

Eacedown, 1797- 
. . . You had a great loss in not seeing Coleridge. He 
is a wonderful man. His conversation teems with soul, 
mind, and spirit. Then he is so benevolent, so good- 
tempered and cheerful, and, like William, interests himself 
so much about every little trifle. At first I thought him 
very plain, that is, for about three minutes. He is pale, 
thin, has a wide mouth, thick lips, and not very good teeth, 
longish, loose-growing, half-curling, rough, black hair. 
But if you hear him speak for five minutes you think no 
more of them. His eye is large and full, and not very 
dark, but grey, such an eye as would receive from a heavy 
soul the dullest expression ; but it speaks every emotion 
of his animated mind : it has more of " the poet's eye in a 
[ 89 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

fine frenzy rolling " than I ever witnessed. He has fine 
dark eyebrows, and an overhanging forehead. 

The first thing that was read after he came was Wil- 
liam's new poem, " The Burned Cottage," 1 with which he 
was much delighted; and after tea he repeated to us two 
acts and a half of his tragedy, " Osorio." The next morn- 
ing William read his tragedy, " The Borderers." 

LINES WRITTEN IN EAELY SPRING 

I heard a thousand blended notes, 
While in a grove I sate reclined, 
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 

To her fair works did Nature link 
The human soul that through me ran ; 
And much it grieved my heart to think 
What man has made of man. 

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, 
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths ; 
And 't is my faith that every flower 
Enjoys the air it breathes. 

The birds around me hopped and played, 
Their thoughts I cannot measure : — 
But the least motion which they made 
It seemed a thrill of pleasure. 

1 Afterwards incorporated into " The Excursion," Book I, where it ia 
told by The Wanderer. 

[ 90 ] 



AY 



rORDSWoKTirs Glen at Alfoxden. 




/ heard <i thousand blended m I 

While in a grove I sate reclined, 

In thai sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 

Bring sad thoughts to the mind." 

— Lines written in Early Spring, p. 00. 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

The budding twigs spread out their fan, 
To catch the breezy air; 
And I must think, do all I can, 
That there was pleasure there. 

If this belief from heaven be sent, 
If such be Nature's holy plan, 
Have I not reason to lament 
What man has made of man ? 



TO MY SISTER 

It is the first mild day of March : 
Each minute sweeter than before 
The redbreast sings from the tall larch 
That stands beside our door. 

There is a blessing in the air, 
Which seems a sense of joy to yield 
To the bare trees, and mountains bare, 
And grass in the green field. 

My sister ! ('t is a wish of mine) 
Now that our morning meal is done, 
Make haste, your morning task resign ; 
Come forth and feel the sun. 

Edward will come with you ; — and, pray, 
Put on with speed your woodland dress ; 
And bring no book : for this one day 
We '11 give to idleness. 

[ 91 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

No joyless forms shall regulate 
Our living calendar : 
We from to-day, my Friend, will date 
The opening of the year. 

Love, now a universal birth, 
From heart to heart, is stealing, 
From earth to man, from man to earth : 
— It is the hour of feeling. 

One moment now may give us more 
Than years of toiling reason : 
Our minds shall drink at every pore 
The spirit of the season. 

Some silent laws our hearts will make, 
Which they shall long obey : 
We for the year to come may take 
Our temper from to-day. 

And from the blessed power that rolls 
About, below, above, 
We '11 frame the measure of our souls : 
They shall be tuned to love. 

Then come, my Sister ! come, I pray, 
With speed put on your woodland dress ; 
And bring no book : for this one day 
We '11 give to idleness. 

[ 92 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

EXPOSTULATION AND EEPLY 

" Why, William, on that old grey stone, 
Thus for the length of half a day, 
Why, William, sit you thus alone, 
And dream your time away ? 

" Where are your books ? — that light bequeathed 
To Beings else forlorn and blind 1 
Up ! up ! and drink the spirit breathed 
From dead men to their kind. 

" You look round on your Mother Earth, 
As if she for no purpose bore you ; 
As if you were her first-born birth, 
And none had lived before you ! " 

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, 
When life was sweet, I knew not why, 
To me my good friend Matthew spake, 
And thus I made reply : 

" The eye — it cannot choose but see ; 
We cannot bid the ear be still ; 
Our bodies feel where'er they be, 
Against or with our will. 

" Nor less I deem that there are Powers 
Which of themselves our minds impress ; 
That we can feed this mind of ours 
In a wise passiveness. 

[ 93 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

" Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum 
Of things for ever speaking, 
That nothing of itself will come, 
But we must still be seeking ? 

" — Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, 

Conversing as I may, 

I sit upon this old grey stone, 

And dream my time away." 

THE TABLES TUBNED 
[an evening scene on the same subject] 

Up ! up ! my Friend, and quit your books ; 
Or surely you'll grow double : 
Up ! up ! my Friend, and clear your looks ; 
Why all this toil and trouble ? 

The sun, above the mountain's head, 

A freshening lustre mellow 

Through all the long green fields has spread, 

His first sweet evening yellow. 

Books ! 't is a dull and endless strife : 
Come, hear the woodland linnet, 
How sweet his music ! on my life, 
There 's more of wisdom in it. 

And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! 
He, too, is no mean preacher : 
Come forth into the light of things, 
Let Nature be your teacher. 

[ 94 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

She has a world of ready wealth, 
Our minds and hearts to bless — 
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 
Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 

One impulse from a vernal wood 
May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 
Than all the sages can. 

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings ; 
Our meddling intellect 
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things 
We murder to dissect. 

Enough of Science and of Art ; 
Close up those barren leaves ; 
Come forth and bring with you a heart 
That watches and receives. 



FROM "PETER BELL" 

He roved among the vales and streams, 
In the green wood and hollow dell ; 
They were his dwellings night and day, 
But nature ne'er could find the way 
Into the heart of Peter Bell. 

[ 95 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

In vain, through every changeful year, 
Did Nature lead him as before ; 
A primrose by a river's brim 
A yellow primrose was to him, 
And it was nothing more. 



Small change it made on Peter's heart 
To see his gentle panniered train 
With more than vernal pleasure feeding, 
Where 'er the tender grass was leading 
Its earliest green along the lane. 

In vain, through water, earth, and air, 
The soul of happy sound was spread, 
When Peter on some April morn, 
Beneath the broom or budding thorn, 
Made the warm earth his lazy bed. 

At noon, when, by the forest's edge 
He lay beneath the branches high, 
The soft blue sky did never melt 
Into his heart; he never felt 
The witchery of the soft blue sky ! 

On a fair prospect some have looked 
And felt, as I have heard them say, 
As if the moving time had been 
A thing as steadfast as the scene 
On which they gazed themselves away. 
[ 96 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

Within the breast of Peter Bell 
These silent raptures found no place ; 
He was a Carl as wild and rude 
As ever hue-and-cry pursued, 
As ever ran a felon's race. 



Though Nature could not touch his heart 
By lovely forms, and silent weather, 
And tender sounds, yet you might see 
At once, that Peter Bell and she 
Had often been together. 

A savage wildness round him hung 
As of a dweller out of doors ; 
In his whole figure and his mien 
A savage character was seen 
Of mountains and of dreary moors. 

To all the unshaped half-human thoughts 

Which solitary Nature feeds 

'Mid summer storms or winter's ice, 

Had Peter joined whatever vice 

The cruel city breeds. 

His face was keen as is the wind 
That cuts along the hawthorn-fence ; — 
Of courage you saw little there, 
But, in its stead, a medley air 
Of cunning and of impudence. 

[ 9? ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

He had a dark and sidelong walk, 
And long and slouching was his gait ; 
Beneath his looks so bare and bold, 
You might perceive, his spirit cold 
Was playing with some inward bait. 



His forehead wrinkled was and furred ; 
A work, one half of which was done 
By thinking of his " tokens" and " hows 
And half, by knitting of his brows 
Beneath the glaring sun. 






There was a hardness in his cheek, 
There was a hardness in his eye, 
As if the man had fixed his face, 
In many a solitary place, 
Against the wind and open sky ! 

And now is Peter taught to feel 
That man's heart is a holy thing ; 
And Nature through a world of death 
Breathes into him a second breath, 
More searching than the breath of spring. 

"THEEE WAS A BOY" 

There was a Boy ; ye knew him well, ye cliffs 
And islands of Winander ! — many a time, 
At evening, when the earliest stars began 
To move along the edges of the hills, 
[ 98 1 



J^ Village Road in Devonshire. 




When thou dost to that summer turn thy thoughts, 
And hast before thee all which then we were, 



To thee the work shall justify itself." 

— The Prelude, Book xiv, p. 11G. 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

Eising or setting, would he stand alone, 

Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake ; 

And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands 

Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth 

Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, 

Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, 

That they might answer him. — And they would shout 

Across the watery vale, and shout again, 

Eesponsive to his call, — with quivering peals, 

And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud 

Eedoubled and redoubled ; concourse wild 

Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause 

Of silence such as baffled his best skill : 

Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung 

Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise 

Has carried far into his heart the voice 

Of mountain-torrents ; or the visible scene 

Would enter unawares into his mind 

With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, 

Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received 

Into the bosom of the steady lake. 1 

This boy was taken from his mates, and died 

In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. 

Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale 

Where he was born and bred : the church-yard hangs 

Upon a slope above the village-school ; 2 



1 Of these lines, Coleridge wrote : " I should have recognized them 
anywhere ; had I met them running wild in the deserts of Arabia I should 
have instantly screamed out, ' Wordsworth ! ' " 

2 Hawkshead. 

[99] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

And, through that church-yard when my way has led 

On summer-evenings, I believe, that there 

A long half-hour together I have stood 

Mute — looking at the grave in which he lies ! 



A POET'S EPITAPH 

Art thou a Statist in the van 
Of public conflicts trained and bred ? 
— First learn to love one living man ; 
Then may'st thou think upon the dead. 

A Lawyer art thou ? — draw not nigh 
Go, carry to some fitter place 
The keenness of that practised eye, 
The hardness of that sallow face. 

Art thou a Man of purple cheer ? 
A rosy Man, right plump to see ? 
Approach ; yet, Doctor, not too near, 
This grave no cushion is for thee. 

Or art thou one of gallant pride, 
A Soldier and no man of chaff ? 
Welcome ! — but lay thy sword aside, 
And lean upon a peasant's staff. 

[ 100 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

Physician art thou ? one, all eyes, 
Philosopher ! a fingering slave, 
One that would peep and botanise 
Upon his mother's grave ? 

Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece, 
turn aside, — and take, I pray, 
That he below may rest in peace, 
Thy ever-dwindling soul, away ! 

A Moralist perchance appears ; 
Led, Heaven knows how ! to this poor sod : 
And he has neither eyes nor ears ; 
Himself his world, and his own God ; 

One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling 
Nor form, nor feeling, great or small ; 
A reasoning, self-sufficing thing, 
An intellectual All-in-all ! 

Shut close the door; press down the latch ; 
Sleep in thy intellectual crust ; 
Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch 
Near this unprofitable dust. 

But who is He, with modest looks, 
And clad in homely russet brown ? 
He murmurs near the running brooks 
A music sweeter than their own. 

[ ioi ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

He is retired as noontide dew, 
Or fountain in a noon-day grove ; 
And you must love him, ere to you 
He will seem worthy of your love. 

The outward shows of sky and earth, 
Of hill and valley, he has viewed ; 
And impulses of deeper birth 
Have come to him in solitude. 



In common things that round us lie 
Some random truths he can impart, — 
The harvest of a quiet eye 
That broods and sleeps on his own heart. 

But he is weak ; both Man and Boy, 
Hath been an idler in the land ; 
Contented if he might enjoy 
The things which others understand. 

— Come hither in thy hour of strength ; 
Come, weak as is a breaking wave ! 
Here stretch thy body at full length ; 
Or build thy house upon this grave. 



[ 102 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 
LINES i 

COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON RE- 
VISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. 
JULY 13, 1798. 

Five years have past j five summers, with the length 2 

Of five long winters ! and again I hear 

These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs 

With a soft inland murmur. — Once again 

Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, 

That on a wild secluded scene impress 

Thoughts of more deep seclusion ; and connect 

The landscape with the quiet of the sky. 

The day is come when I again repose 

Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 

These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, 

Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, 

Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 

'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see 

These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines 

Of sportive wood run wild : these pastoral farms, 

Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke 

Sent up, in silence, from among the trees ! 

1 No poem of mine was composed under circumstances more pleasant 
for me to remember than this. I began it upon leaving Tintern, after 
crossing the Wye, and concluded it just as I was entering Bristol in the, 
evening, after a ramble of four or five days, with my Sister. Not a line 
of it was altered, and not any part of it written down till I reached Bristol. 
(Wordsworth's Note.) 

2 Wordsworth's first visit to the Wye was made alone, on a walking 
tour, in the Summer of 1793. 

[ 10S ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

With some uncertain notice, as might seem 
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire 
The Hermit sits alone. 

These beauteous forms, 
Through a long absence, have not been to me 
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye : 
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din 
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them 
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, 
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart ; 
And passing even into my purer mind, 
With tranquil restoration : — feelings too 
Of unremembered pleasure : such, perhaps, 
As have no slight or trivial influence 
On that best portion of a good man's life, 
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts 
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, 
To them I may have owed another gift, 
Of aspect more sublime ; that blessed mood, 
In which the burthen of the mystery, 
In which the heavy and the weary weight 
Of all this unintelligible world, 
Is lightened : — that serene and blessed mood, 
In which the affections gently lead us on, — 
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame 
And even the motion of our human blood 
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep 
In body, and become a living soul : 
While with an eye made quiet by the power 
[ 104 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, 
We see into the life of things. 

If this 
Be but a vain belief, yet oh ! how oft — 
In darkness and amid the many shapes 
Of joyless daylight ; when the fretful stir 
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart — 
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, 

sylvan Wye ! thou wanderer thro' the woods, 
How often has my spirit turned to thee ! 

And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 
With many recognitions dim and faint, 
And somewhat of a sad perplexity, 
The picture of the mind revives again : 
While here I stand, not only with the sense 
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 
That in this moment there is life and food 
For future years. And so I dare to hope, 
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first 

1 came among these hills ; when like a roe 
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides 
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, 
Wherever nature led : more like a man 
Flying from something that he dreads, than one 
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then 
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, 

And their glad animal movements all gone by) 
To me was all in all. — I cannot paint 
What then I was. The sounding cataract 
[ W5 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, 
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 
Their colours and their forms, were then to me 
An appetite ; a feeling and a love, 
That had no need of a remoter charm, 
By thought supplied, nor any interest 
Unborrowed from the eye. — That time is past, 
And all its aching joys are now no more, 
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this 
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur ; other gifts 
Have followed ; for such loss, I would believe, 
Abundant recompense. For I have learned 
To look on nature, not as in the hour 
Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing oftentimes 
The still, sad music of humanity, 
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power 
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 
A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 
Of something far more deeply interfused, 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
And the round ocean and the living air, 
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man ; 
A motion and a spirit that impels 
All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still 
A lover of the meadows and the woods, 
And mountains ; and of all that we behold 
From this green earth ; of all the mighty world 
Of eye, and ear, — both what they half create, 
[ 106 ] 



fJMNTERN Abbey. The Nave from the West. 




" Through a long absence, 

1 have owed to them 

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, 
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.'" 

— Lines composed near Tintern Abbev. n. ifu 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

And what perceive ; well pleased to recognise 
In nature and the language of the sense, 
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 
Of all my moral being. 

Nor perchance, 
If I were not thus taught, should I the more 
Suffer my genial spirits to decay : 
For thou art with me here upon the banks 
Of this fair river ; thou my dearest Friend, 
My dear, dear Friend ; and in thy voice I catch 
The language of my former heart, and read 
My former pleasures in the shooting lights 
Of thy wild eyes. Oh ! yet a little while 
May I behold in thee what I was once, 
My dear, dear Sister ! and this prayer I make, 
Knowing that Nature never did betray 
The heart that loved her ; 't is her privilege, 
Through all the years of this our life, to lead 
From joy to joy : for she can so inform 
The mind that is within us, so impress 
With quietness and beauty, and so feed 
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, 
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 
The dreary intercourse of daily life, 
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold 
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon 
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk ; 
[ 107 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

And let the misty mountain- winds be free 

To blow against thee : and, in after years, 

When these wild ecstasies shall be matured 

Into a sober pleasure ; when thy mind 

Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, 

Thy memory be as a dwelling-place 

For all sweet sounds and harmonies ; oh ! then, 

If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, 

Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts 

Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, 

And these my exhortations ! Nor, perchance — 

If I should be where I no more can hear 

Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams 

Of past existence — wilt thou then fori 

That on the banks of this delightful stream 

We stood together ; and that I, so long 

.V worshipper of Nature, hither came 

Unwearied in that service : rather say 

With warmer love — oh ! with far deeper zeal 

Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, 

That after many wanderings, many years 

Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliifs, 

And this green pastoral landscape, were to me 

More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake ! 

FROM "THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR " 

— Many, I believe, there are 
Who live a life of virtuous decency, 
Men who can hear the Decalogue and feel 

[ 108 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

No self-reproach ; who of the moral law 
Established in the laud where they abide 
Are strict observers ; and not negligent 
In acts of love to those with whom they dwell, 
Their kindred, and the children of their blood. 
Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace ! 

— .But of the poor man ask, the abject poor; 
Go, and demand of him, if there be here 

In this cold abstinence from evil deeds, 

And these inevitable charities, 

Wherewith to satisfy the human soul? 

No — man is dear to man ; the poorest poor 

Long for some moments in a weary life 

When they can know and feel that they have been, 

Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out 

Of some small blessings; have been kind to such 

As needed kindness, for this single cause, 

That we have all of us one human heart. 

— Such pleasure is to one kind Being known, 

My neighbour, when with punctual care, each week 

Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself 

By her own wants, she from her store of meal 

Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip 

Qf this old Mendicant, and, from her door 

Returning with exhilarated heart, 

Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven. 

Then let him pass, a blessing on his head ! 
And while in that vast solitude to which 
The tide of things has borne him, he appears 
To breathe and live but for himself alone, 
[ 109 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about 
The good which the benignant law of Heaven 
Has hung around him : and, while life is his, 
Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers 
To tender offices and pensive thoughts. 
— Then let him pass, a blessing on his head ! 
And, long as he can wander, let him breathe 
The freshness of the valleys ; let his blood 
Struggle with frosty air and winter snows ; 
And let the chartered wind that sweeps the heath 
Beat his grey locks against his withered face. 
Eeverence the hope whose vital anxiousness 
Gives the last human interest to his heart. 
May never House, misnamed of Industry, 
Make him a captive ! — for that pent-up din, 
Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air, 
Be his the natural silence of old age ! 
Let him be free of mountain solitudes ; 
And have around him, whether heard or not, 
The pleasant melody of woodland birds. 



EEOM DOEOTHY WOEDSWOETH TO MES. 
MAESHALL 

Alfoxden, near Nether-Stowey, Somersetshire, 

August 14, 1797. 

Here we are in a large mansion, in a large park, with 

seventy head of deer around us. But I must begin with 

the day of leaving Eacedown to pay Coleridge a visit. 

You know how much we were delighted with the neigh- 

[ "0 ] 



^2 

If 







<o 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

bourhood of Stowey. . . . The evening that I wrote to 
you/ William and I had rambled as far as this house, and 
pryed into the recesses of our little brook, but without 
any more fixed thoughts upon it than some dreams of 
happiness in a little cottage, and passing wishes that such 
a place might be found out. We spent a fortnight at 
Coleridge's : in the course of that time we heard that this 
house was to let, applied for it, and took it. Our prin- 
cipal inducement was Coleridge's society. It was a month 
yesterday since we came to Alfoxden. 

The house is a large mansion, with furniture enough 
for a dozen families like ours. There is a very excellent 
garden, well stocked with vegetables and fruit. The gar- 
den is at the end of the house, and our favourite parlour, 
as at Eacedown, looks that way. In front is a little court, 
with grass plot, gravel walk, and shrubs ; the moss roses 
were in full beauty a month ago. The front of the house 
is to the south, but it is screened from the sun by a high 
hill which rises immediately from it. This hill is beauti- 
ful, scattered irregularly and abundantly with trees, and 
topped with fern, which spreads a considerable way down 
it. The deer dwell here, and sheep, so that we have a 
living prospect. From the end of the house we have a 
view of the sea, over a woody meadow-country ; and ex- 
actly opposite the window where I now sit is an immense 
wood, whose round top from this point has exactly the 
appearance of a mighty dome. In some parts of this wood 
there is an under grove of hollies which are now very 
beautiful. In a glen at the bottom of the wood is the 

1 July fourth. 

[ in 1 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

waterfall of which I spoke, a quarter of a mile from the 
house. We are three miles from Stowey, and not two 
miles from the sea. Wherever we turn we have woods, 
smooth downs, and valleys with small brooks running 
down them, through green meadows, hardly ever inter- 
sected with hedgerows, but scattered over with trees. The 
hills that cradle these valleys are either covered with fern 
and bilberries, or oak woods, which are cut for charcoal. 
. . .. Walks extend for miles over the hill-tops; the great 
beauty of which is their wild simplicity : they are perfectly 
smooth, without rocks. 

The Tor of Glastonbury is before our eyes during 
more than half of our walk to Stowey ; and in the park 
wherever we go, keeping about fifteen yards above the 
house, it makes a part of our prospect. 

TO JAMES LOSH 

My dear Losh, — I have wished much to hear from 
you. I suppose that your marriage has not yet taken 
place, or I should certainly have been apprised of it. I 
have had some fears about your health, but I have con- 
stantly banished them as soon as they came into my mind. 
Perhaps you have heard of the unexampled liberality of 
the Wedgwoods towards Coleridge ; they have settled an 
annuity of £150 upon him, for life. We are obliged to 
quit this place at midsummer. I have already spoken to 
you of its enchanting beauty. Do contrive to come and 
see us before we go away. Coleridge is now writing by 
me at the same table. I need not say how ardently he 

[ us ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

joins with me in this wish, and how deeply interested he is 
in anything relating to you. 

We have a delightful scheme in agitation, which is ren- 
dered still more delightful by a probability which I cannot 
exclude from my mind that you may be induced to join in 
the party. We have come to a resolution — Coleridge, 
Mrs Coleridge, my sister, and myself — of going into 
Germany, where we purpose to pass the two ensuing years 
in order to acquire the German language, and to furnish 
ourselves with a tolerable stock of information in natural 
science. Our plan is to settle if possible in a village near 
a University, in a pleasant, and, if we can, a mountainous 
country. It will be desirable that the place should be as 
near as may be to Hamburgh, on account of the expense of 
travelling. What do you say to this? I know that 
Cecilia Baldwin has great activity and spirit ; may I venture 
to whisper a vish to her that she would consent to join 
this little colony ? I have not forgotten your apprehen- 
sions from sea-sickness ; there may be many other obstacles 
which I cannot divine. I cannot, however, suppress wishes 
which I have so ardently felt. Where is Tweddel ? Will 
you have the goodness to write to him, and to request that 
he would inform you what places he has seen in Germany, 
which he thinks eligible residences for persons with such 
views, either for accidental or permanent advantages ; also, 
if he could give any information respecting the prices of 
board, lodging, house rents, provisions, &c, upon which we 
should be justified in proceeding, it would be highly useful. 

I have not yet seen any numbers of the Economist, 
though I requested Cottle to transmit them to me. I have 
8 [ 113 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

been tolerably industrious within the last few weeks. I 
have written 706 lines of a poem which I hope to make of 
considerable utility. Its title will be, The Eecluse, or 
Views of Nature, Man, and Society. Let me hear from 
you immediately. My sister begs her kind remembrances. 
— I am, dear Losh, your affectionate friend, 

W. Wordsworth. 
Alfoxden, near Stowey-Bridgewater, 
Somersetshire, March 11 [179S]. 



TO THOMAS COTTLE 1 

Sockburn, 27th July [Postmark 1799]. 
My dear Cottle, — I thank you for your draft, 
which I received on Friday evening. ... I am not poor 
enough yet to make me think it right that I should take 
interest for a debt from a friend, paid eleven months after 
it is due. If I were in want, I should make no scruple 
in applying to you for twice that sum. I should be very 
glad to hear so good an account of the sale of the Lyrical 
Ballads, if I were not afraid that your wish to give pleas- 
ure, and your proneness to self-deception, had made you 
judge too favourably. I am told they have been reviewed 
in The Monthly Review, but I have not heard in what 
style. . . . God bless you, my dear Cottle. — Believe me, 

your very affectionate friend, 

W. Wordsworth. 

P. S. — . . . My aversion from publication increases 

every day, so much so, that no motives whatever, nothing 

1 Publisher of " Lyrical Ballads," Bristol, 1798. 

[ lit J 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

but pecuniary necessity, will, I think, ever prevail upon me 
to commit myself to the press again. . . . 



TO THOMAS COTTLE 

Sockburn, 1799. 

My dear Cottle, — ... Southey's review I have 
seen. He knew that I published those poems for money 
and money alone. He knew that money was of importance 
to me. If he could not conscientiously have spoken dif- 
ferently of the volume, he ought to have declined the task 
of reviewing it. 

The bulk of the poems he has described as destitute of 
merit. 1 Am I recompensed for this by vague praises of 
my talents ? I care little for the praise of any other pro- 
fessional critic, but as it may help me to pudding. ... — 
Believe me, dear Cottle, your affectionate friend, 

W. Wordsworth. 



FROM "THE PRELUDE," BOOK XIV 

[alfoxden days with s. t. coleridge] 

Whether to me shall be allotted life, 
And, with life, power to accomplish aught of worth, 
That will be deemed no insufficient plea 
For having given the story of myself, 
Is all uncertain : but, beloved Friend ! 

1 Southey's admiration for Wordsworth later became thoroughly en- 
thusiastic. An unbroken friendship of many years was established between 
them soon after the date of this letter. 

[ 115 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

When, looking back, thou seest, in clearer view 

Than any liveliest sight of yesterday, 

That summer, under whose indulgent skies, 

Upon smooth Quantock's airy ridge we roved 

Unchecked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs, 

Thou in bewitching words, with happy heart, 

Didst chaunt the vision of that Ancient Man, 

The bright-eyed Mariner, and rueful woes 

Didst utter of the Lady Christabel j 

And I, associate with such labour, steeped 

In soft forgetfulness the livelong hours, 

Murmuring of him who, joyous hap, was found, 

After the perils of his moonlight ride, 

Near the loud waterfall ; or her who sate 

In misery near the miserable Thorn — 1 

When thou dost to that summer turn thy thoughts, 

And hast before thee all which then we were, 

To thee, in memory of that happiness, 

It will be known, by thee at least, my Friend ! 

Felt, that the history of a Poet's mind 

Is labour not unworthy of regard ; 

To thee the work shall justify itself. 2 

The last and later portions of this gift 
Have been prepared, not with the buoyant spirits 
That were our daily portion when we first 

1 " The Idiot Boy " and " The Thorn." 

2 Coleridge's admiration for Wordsworth often expressed itself with over 
extravagance, as when he said : " I feel myself a better poet in knowing how 
to honour kirn than in all my own poetic compositions, all I have done or 
hope to do." 

[ 116 ] 



THE YEARS 1795 TO 1800 

Together wantoned in wild Poesy, 

But, under pressure of a private grief, 1 

Keen and enduring, which the mind and heart, 

That in this meditative history 

Have been laid open, needs must make me feel 

More deeply, yet enable me to bear 

More firmly j and a comfort now hath risen 

Prom hope that thou art near, and wilt be soon 

Eestored to us in renovated health ; 

When, after the first mingling of our tears, 

'Mong other consolations, we may draw 

Some pleasure from this offering of my love. 

Oh ! yet a few short years of useful life, 
And all will be complete, thy race be run, 
Thy monument of glory will be raised ; 
Then, though (too weak to tread the ways of truth) 
This age fall back to old idolatry, 
Though men return to servitude as fast 
As the tide ebbs, to ignominy and shame, 
By nations, sink together, we shall still 
Find solace — knowing what we have learnt to know, 
Eich in true happiness if allowed to be 
Faithful alike in forwarding a day 
Of firmer trust, joint labourers in the work 
(Should Providence such grace to us vouchsafe) 
Of their deliverance, surely yet to come. 
Prophets of Nature, we to them will speak 

1 The death by shipwreck of his brother John. See Letter to Sir 
George Beaumont, p. 170. 

[ in ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

A lasting inspiration, sanctified 

By reason, blest by faith : what we have loved, 

Others will love, and we will teach them how; 

Instruct them how the mind of man becomes 

A thousand times more beautiful than the earth 

On which he dwells, above this frame of things 

(Which, 'mid all revolution in the hopes 

And fears of men, doth still remain unchanged) 

In beauty exalted, as it is itself 

Of quality and fabric more divine. 



[ H8 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

GRASMERE 
INTRODUCTORY 

7 r N the Summer of 1799, Wordsworth and Cole- 
ridge travelled through Westmoreland and Cum- 
berland, seeking homes where they might settle 
down again as neighbors. Wordsworth decided on a 
little cottage just out of the village of Grasmere, used 
as a public house and bearing the sign of " The Dove 
and Olive Bough" He took a lease of it, called it 
Dove Cottage, and m December of the same year took 
possession with the ever faithful Dorothy to estab- 
lish the new home, and to make poetry the business of 
life. 

Perhaps because this house has now been purchased 
for the nation, and, restored as nearly as possible to its 
former condition, is open to the public; perhaps be- 
cause of the general acceptance of Matthew Arnold's 
too sweeping dictum that here was written all of 
Wordsworth's best poetry, — this is the home of all 
others most closely associated with the poet's memory. 
Here, "remote from evil-speaking," "rancour" 
" malignant truth, or lie " he lived for eight years, and 
so much of its local color has crept into his verse that, 
even cm a first visit, one feels quite at home. The 
[ 119 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

" little nook of mountain ground" the " garden or- 
chard" the " rocky well " with its fringe of gowan and 
marsh-marigold, " the bower " — make still a beautiful 
retreat behind the cottage; close at hand are still the 
" thickets full of songsters and the voice of lordly 
birds "; beyond are Grasmere Lake with " its one 
green island and its winding shores," the " Church 
and cottages of mountain stone" and " the multitude 
of little rocky hills" By a little search one finds the 
wishing-gate, the fir-grove of sacred memories, glow- 
worm rock, the leech- gatherer's pool, and their favorite 
walk over the hill of White Moss. But neither can we 
forget that these were the days when, according to De 
Quincey, " the finger of scorn was pointed at Mr. 
Wordsworth from every journal in the land." Not 
only were the poems an easy mark for ridicule, but to 
his second edition of " Lyrical Ballads " (180%) he had 
added the now famous " Preface " in which he boldly 
proclaimed what seemed to Jeffrey and the rest of his 
tribe the worst of all possible heresies in regard to 
poetic diction. 

But if no man ever worked against greater odds 
as far as the public was concerned, yet few have ever 
had greater stimulus from private friendships and 
from the members of his own household. The wife, 
Mary Hutchinson, whom he married within two years 
after coming to Grasmere, and her sisters Sarah 
and Joanna, were scarcely less devoted to his service 
than his own sister Dorothy; Coleridge never tired of 
[ 120 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

listening, advising, praising; the sailor-brother John 
was truly a kindred spirit. At this time also began 
a very intimate and inspiring friendship with Sir 
George and Lady Beaumont of Leicestershire, which 
Wordsworth counted " among the blessings of his 
life." Not only were frequent visits exchanged, but 
it is plain from the letters that passed between them 
that there were few persons to whom Wordsworth 
expressed himself so freely and so eloquently. Sir 
George was a painter, and one of his pictures, " Peele 
Castle in a Storm," suggested the poem containing 

the often-quoted lines — 

" the gleam 
The light that never was, on sea or land, 
The consecration, and the Poet's dream'* 

The first collected edition of his poems was dedicated 
to Sir George, and it is from a letter to Lady Beaumont 
that we get his most explicit utterance about the mis- 
sion of poetry: " To console the afflicted; to add sun- 
shine to daylight by making the happy happier; to 
teach the young, and the gracious of every age, to see, 
to think and feel, and therefore to become more actively 
and securely virtuous" 

But the little cottage, which had been none too large 
in the beginning, became quite too small when the 
family had been increased by a wife and three children, 
to say nothing of relatives and guests. Even Dorothy 
wondered how he could accomplish so much in one 
room, common to all the family as well as to visitors, 
and with the children frequently at play beside him. 
[ 121 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

No marvel that he preferred walks among the hills 
when composing poetry! 

But, notwithstanding all these hindrances, it was in 
the eight years at Dove Cottage that he wrote nearly 
half of " The Prelude," began " The Excursion," and 
completed enough short poems to make a collection 
of them in two volumes, introduced by a Preface of 
which Charles Lamb wrote: " I am hurt and vexed 
that you should think it necessary with a prose apol- 
ogy to open the eyes of dead men that cannot see" 

A temporary solution of the space problem was 
made through the kmdness of Sir George Beaumont, 
who lent them for one year his farmhouse at Coleorton. 
Other friends tried to tempt them to take up their 
residence on Ullswater, but they could not face the 
thought of leaving their beloved Grasmere. At last 
they secured a house at the other end of the village, 
still standing and known as Allan Bank. It is built 
on the northern flank of Silverhowe, on the way to 
Easedale, and on a sunny day Dorothy's description 
of it seems hardly exaggerated: " This place, the 
wood behind it and the rocks, the view of Easedale 
from there, the lake and church and village on the 
other side, is sweeter than Paradise itself." But as a 
winter residence it proved to have a wet cellar, smoky 
chimneys, a/nd worse discomforts than the one they 
had left. The principal literary work at this time was 
" The Excursion " ; but no part of it was published 
until later. 

[ 122 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

After three years at Allan Bank, they moved to 
the Parsonage, opposite the church, and enjoyed the 
luxury of having " at least one sitting-room clear of 
smoke m all winds." 

However, it was here that the first real sorrow en- 
tered into the lives of this united family. Thomas 
and Catherine, the two younger children, died within 
a few months of each other, and their graves were the 
first to be made in that corner of the village church- 
yard sacred to the Wordsworth family, now daily 
visited by so many pilgrims from so niany lands. 

The poefs own record of the home at Grasmere is 
to be found in an autobiographical poem which he 
wrote at this time, but which he withheld from pub- 
lication. Thirty-eight years after his death it was 
given to the world under the title " The Recluse." 



[ 123 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

FBOM "THE BECLUSE" 
[life at grasmere] 

And now 't is mine, perchance for life, dear Yale, 
Beloved Grasmere, (let the wandering streams 
Take up, the cloud-capped hills repeat, the Name) 
One of thy lowly dwellings is my home. 

On Nature's invitation do I come, 
By reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead, 
That made the calmest, fairest spot of earth 
With all its unappropriated good 
My own ; and not mine only, for with me 
Entrenched, say rather peacefully embowered, 
Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot, 
A younger Orphan of a home extinct, 
The only Daughter of my Parents dwells. 

Ay, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir, 
Pause upon that and let the breathing frame 
No longer breathe, but all be satisfied. 
— Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God 
For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then 
Shall gratitude find rest ? Mine eyes did ne'er 
Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind 
Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts, 
But either She whom now I have, who now 
Divides with me this loved abode, was there 
Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned, 
[ 125 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Her voice was like a hidden Bird that sang. 

The thought of her was like a flash of light, 

Or an unseen companionship, a breath 

Of fragrance independent of the Wind. 

In all my goings, in the new and old 

Of all my meditations, and in this 

Favourite of all, in this the most of all. 

— What being, therefore, since the birth of Man 

Had ever more abundant cause to speak 

Thanks, and if favours of the Heavenly Muse 

Make him more thankful, then to call on Verse 

To aid him and in song resound his joy ? 

The boon is absolute ; surpassing grace 

To me hath been vouchsafed ; among the bowers 

Of blissful Eden this was neither given 

Nor could be given, possession of the good 

Which had been sighed for, ancient thought fulfilled, 

And dear Imaginations realised, 

Up to their highest measure, yea and more. 1 

Embrace me then, ye Hills, and close me in ; 
Now in the clear and open day I feel 
Your guardianship ; I take it to my heart ; 
'T is like the solemn shelter of the night. 
But I would call thee beautiful, for mild, 
And soft and gay, and beautiful thou art, 
Dear Valley, having in thy face a smile, 
Though peaceful, full of gladness. Thou art pleased, 

1 "Not Laura with Petrarch, not Beatrice with Dante are more 
really connected than Wordsworth with his sister Dorothy." — Paxton 
Hood. 

[ 126 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Pleased with thy crags and woody steeps, thy Lake, 

Its one green island and its winding shores j 

The multitude of little rocky hills, 

Thy Church and cottages of mountain stone 

Clustered like stars some few, but single most, 

And lurking dimly in their shy retreats, 

Or glancing at each other cheerful looks 

Like separated stars with clouds between. 

What want we ? have we not perpetual streams, 

Warm woods, and sunny hills, and fresh green fields, 

And mountains not less green, and flocks and herds, 

And thickets full of songsters, and the voice 

Of lordly birds, an unexpected sound 

Heard now and then from morn to latest eve, 

Admonishing the man who walks below 

Of solitude and silence in the sky ? 

These have we, and a thousand nooks of earth 

Have also these, but nowhere else is found, 

Nowhere (or is it fancy ?) can be found 

The one sensation that is here ; 't is here, 

Here as it found its way into my heart 

In childhood, here as it abides by day, 

By night, here only ; or in chosen minds 

That take it with them hence, where'er they go. " 

— 'T is, but I cannot name it, 't is the sense 

Of majesty, and beauty, and repose, 

A blended holiness of earth and sky, 

Something that makes this individual spot, 

This small abiding-place of many men, 

A termination, and a last retreat, 

[ m ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

A centre, come from wheresoever you will, 
A whole without dependence or defect, 
Made for itself, and happy in itself, 
Perfect contentment, Unity entire. 

Bleak season was it, turbulent and bleak, 
When hitherward we journeyed side by side 
Through burst of sunshine and through flying showers 
Paced the long vales — how long they were — and yet 
How fast that length of way was left behind, 
Wensley's rich Vale, and Sedbergh's naked heights. 
The frosty wind, as if to make amends 
Eor its keen breath, was aiding to our steps, 
And drove us onward like two ships at sea, 
Or like two birds, companions in mid-air, 
Parted and reunited by the blast. 1 

Stern was the face of nature ; we rejoiced 
In that stern countenance, for our souls thence drew 
A feeling of their strength. The naked trees, 
The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared 
To question us. " Whence come ye, to what end ? n 
They seemed to say. " What would ye," said the shower, 
( ' Wild Wanderers, whither through my dark domain ? " 
The sunbeam said, " Be happy/'' When this vale 
We entered, bright and solemn was the sky 
That faced us with a passionate welcoming, 
And led us to our threshold. Daylight failed 
Insensibly, and round us gently fell 
Composing darkness, with a quiet load 

1 A prose description of the journey is given in the letter following, 
p. 136. 

[ 128 ] 



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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Of full contentment, in a little shed 

Disturbed, uneasy in itself as seemed, 

And wondering at its new inhabitants. 

It loves us now, this Yale so beautiful 

Begins to love us ! by a sullen storm, 

Two months unwearied of severest storm, 

It put the temper of our minds to proof, 

And found us faithful through the gloom, and heard 

The poet mutter his prelusive songs 

With cheerful heart, an unknown voice of joy 

Among the silence of the woods and hills ; 

Silent to any gladsomeness of sound 

With all their shepherds. 

But the gates of Spring 
Are opened ; churlish winter hath given leave 
That she should entertain for this one day, 
Perhaps for many genial days to come, 
His guests, and make them jocund. 

From crowded streets remote, 
Far from the living and dead wilderness 
Of the thronged world, Society is here 
A true Community, a genuine frame 
Of many into one incorporate. 
That must be looked for here, paternal sway, 
One household under God for high and low, 
One family, and one mansion ; to themselves 
Appropriate, and divided from the world 
As if it were a cave, a multitude 
Human and brute, possessors undisturbed 
9 [ 129 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Of this recess, their legislative hall, 

Their Temple, and their glorious dwelling-place. 

Dismissing, therefore, all Arcadian dreams, 
All golden fancies of the golden age, 
The bright array of shadowy thoughts from times 
That were before all time, or is it to be 
Ere time expire, the pageantry that stirs, 
And will be stirring when our eyes are fixed 
On lovely objects, and we wish to part 
With all remembrance of a jarring world, 
Take we at once this one sufficient hope, 
What need of more ? that we shall neither droop, 
Nor pine for want of pleasure in the life 
Scattered about us, nor through dearth of aught 
That keeps in health the insatiable mind ; 
That we shall have of knowledge and of love 
Abundance ; and that, feeling as we do 
How goodly, how exceeding fair, how pure 
From all reproach is yon ethereal vault, 
And this deep vale its earthly counterpart, 
By which, and under which, we are enclosed 
To breathe in peace, we shall moreover find 
(If sound, and what we ought to be ourselves, 
If rightly we observe and justly weigh) 
The inmates not unworthy of their home 
The dwellers of their dwelling. 

And if this 
Were otherwise, we have within ourselves 
Enough to fill the present day with joy, 
And overspread the future years with hope, 
[ 130 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Our beautiful and quiet home, enriched 
Already with a stranger whom we love 
Deeply, a stranger of our father's house, 
A never-resting Pilgrim of the Sea, 1 
Who finds at last an hour to his content 
Beneath our roof. And others whom we love 
Will seek us also, sisters of our hearts, 2 
And one, like them, a brother of our hearts, 
Philosopher and Poet, 3 in whose sight 

These mountains will rejoice with open joy. 

• •••■• 

While yet an innocent little one, with a heart 
That doubtless wanted not its tender moods, 
I breathed (for this I better recollect) 
Among wild appetites and blind desires, 
Motions of savage instinct, my delight 
And exaltation. Nothing at that time 
So welcome, no temptation half so dear 
As that which urged me to a daring feat, 
Deep pools, tall trees, black chasms, and dizzy crags, 
And tottering towers : I loved to stand and read 
Their looks forbidding, read and disobey, 
Sometimes in act, and evermore in thought. 
With impulses that scarcely were by these 
Surpassed in strength, I heard of danger, met 
Or sought with courage ; enterprise forlorn 
By one, sole keeper of his own intent, 

1 John Wordsworth. 

2 The Hutchinsons, Mrs. Wordsworth's sisters. 
8 Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 

[ i3i ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Or by a resolute few who for the sake 

Of glory, fronted multitudes in arms. 

Yea to this hour I cannot read a tale 

Of two brave vessels matched in deadly fight, 

And fighting to the death, but I am pleased 

More than a wise man ought to be ; I wish, 

Fret, burn, and struggle, and in soul am there. 

But me hath Nature tamed, and bade me seek 

For other agitations, or be calm ; 

Hath dealt with me as with a turbulent stream, 

Some nursling of the mountains, which she leads 

Through quiet meadows, after he has learnt 

His strength, and had his triumph and his joy, 

His desperate course of tumult and of glee. 

That which in stealth by Nature was performed 

Hath Eeason sanctified. Her deliberate voice 

Hath said, " Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, 

Thy glory and thy happiness be there. 

Nor fear, though thou confide in me, a want 

Of aspirations that have been, of foes 

To wrestle with, and victory to complete, - 

Bounds to be leapt, darkness to be explored, 

All that inflamed thy infant heart, the love, 

The longing, the contempt, the undaunted quest, 

All shall survive — though changed their offices — 

Shall live, it is not in their power to die." 

Then farewell to the warrior's schemes, farewell 
The forwardness of soul which looks that way 
Upon a less incitement than the cause 
Of Liberty endangered, and farewell 
[ 132 ] 



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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

That other hope, long mine, the hope to fill 
The heroic trumpet with the Muse's breath ! 
Yet in this peaceful Yale we will not spend 
Unheard of days, though loving peaceful thoughts. 
A voice shall speak, and what will be the theme ? 

On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, 
Musing in solitude, I oft perceive 
Fair trains of imagery before me rise, 
Accompanied by feelings of delight 
Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed ; 
And I am conscious of affecting thoughts 
And dear remembrances, whose presence soothes 
Or elevates the Mind, intent to weigh 
The good and evil of our mortal state. 
— To these emotions, whencesoe'er they come, 
Whether from breath of outward circumstance, 
Or from the Soul — an impulse to herself — 
I would give utterance in numerous verse. 
Of Truth, of Grandeur, Beauty, Love, and Hope, 
And melancholy Fear subdued by Faith ; 
Of blessed consolations in distress ; 
Of moral strength, and intellectual Power ; 
Of joy in widest commonalty spread \ 
Of the individual Mind that keeps her own 
Inviolate retirement, subject there 
To Conscience only, and the law supreme 
Of that Intelligence which governs all — 
I sing : — « fit audience let me find though few ! " 
So prayed, more gaining than he asked, the Bard 
In holiest mood. Urania, I shall need 
[ 133 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Thy guidance, or a greater Muse, if such 
Descend to earth or dwell in highest heaven ! 
For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink 
Deep — and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds 
To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil. 
All strength — all terror, single or in bands, 
That ever was put forth in personal form — 
Jehovah — with his thunder, and the choir 
Of shouting xingels, and the empyreal thrones — 
I pass them unalarmed. Not Chaos, not 
The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, 
Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out 
By help of dreams — can breed such fear and awe 
As fall upon us often when we look 
Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man — 
My haunt, and the main region of my song 
— Beauty — a living Presence of the earth, 
Surpassing the most fair ideal Forms 
Which craft of delicate Spirits hath composed 
From earth's materials — waits upon my steps ; 
Pitches her tents before me as I move, 
An hourly neighbour. Paradise, and groves 
Elysian, Fortunate Fields — like those of old 
Sought in the Atlantic Main — why should they be 
A history only of departed things, 
Or a mere fiction of what never was ? 
For the discerning intellect of Man, 
When wedded to this goodly universe 
In love and holy passion, shall find these 
A simple produce of the common day. 
[ 134 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

— I, long before the blissful hour arrives, 
Would chant, in lonely peace, the spousal verse 
Of this great consummation : — and, by words 
Which speak of nothing more than what we are, 
Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep 

Of Death, and win the vacant and the vain 

To noble raptures ; while my voice proclaims 

How exquisitely the individual Mind 

(And the progressive powers perhaps no less 

Of the whole species) to the external World 

Is fitted : — and how exquisitely, too — 

Theme this but little heard of among men — 

The external World is fitted to the Mind ; 

And the creation (by no lower name 

Can it be called) which they with blended might 

Accomplish : — this is our high argument. 

— Such grateful haunts foregoing, if I oft 
Must turn elsewhere — ■ to travel near the tribes 
And fellowships of men, and see ill sights 

Of madding passions mutually inflamed ; 
Must hear Humanity in fields and groves 
Pipe solitary anguish ; or must hang 
Brooding above the fierce confederate storm 
Of sorrow, barricadoed evermore 
Within the walls of cities — may these sounds 
Have their authentic comment ; that even these 
Hearing, I be not downcast or forlorn ! — 
Descend, prophetic Spirit ! that inspirit 
The human Soul of universal earth, 
Dreaming on things to come ; and dost possess 
[ 135 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

A metropolitan temple in the hearts 

Of mighty Poets ; upon me bestow 

A gift of genuine insight ; that my Song 

With star-like virtue in its place may shine, 

Shedding benignant influence, and secure 

Itself from all malevolent effect 

Of those mutations that extend their sway 

Throughout the nether sphere ! — And if with this 

I mix more lowly matter; with the thing 

Contemplated, describe the mind and Man 

Contemplating ; and who, and what he was — 

The transitory Being that beheld 

This Vision : — when and where, and how he lived ; 

Be not this labour useless. If such theme 

May sort with highest objects, then — dread Power ! 

Whose gracious favour is the primal source 

Of all illumination — may my Life 

Express the image of a better time, 

More wise desires, and simpler manners ; — nurse 

My heart in genuine freedom : — all pure thoughts 

Be with me ; — so shall thy unfailing love 

Guide, and support, and cheer me to the end ! 

TO SAMUEL TAYLOE COLERIDGE 

Grasmere, December 25, 1799. 

. . . We arrived here on the evening of St. Thomas's 

day, last Eriday, and have now been four days in our new 

abode without writing to you — a long time ! but we have 

been in such confusion as not to have had a moment's 

[ 136 ] 



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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

leisure. My dear friend, we talk of you perpetually, and 
for me I see you everywhere. 

But let me be a little more methodical. We left 
Sockburn last Tuesday morning. We crossed the Tees 
by moonlight in the Sockburn fields, and after ten good 
miles' riding came in sight of the Swale. It is there a 
beautiful river, with its green bank and flat holms scat- 
tered over with trees. Four miles further brought us to 
Richmond, with its huge ivied castle, its friarage steeple, 
its castle tower resembling a huge steeple, and two other 
steeple towers, for such they appeared to us. The situ- 
ation of this place resembles that of Barnard Castle, but 
I should suppose is somewhat inferior to it. George ac- 
companied us eight miles further, and there we parted with 
sorrowful hearts. We were now in Wensley Dale, and 
Dorothy and I set off side by side to foot it as far as 
Kendal. I will not clog my letter with a description of 
this celebrated dale; but I must not neglect to mention 
that a little before sunset we reached one of the waterfalls, 
of which I read you a short description in Mr Taylor's 
tour. It is a singular scene ; I meant to have given you 
some account of it, but I feel myself too lazy to execute 
the task. 'Tis such a performance as you might have 
expected from some giant gardener employed by one of 
Queen Elizabeth's courtiers, if this same giant gardener 
had consulted with Spenser, and they two had finished the 
work together. By this you will understand that it is at 
once formal and wild. We readied Askrigg, twelve miles, 
before six in the evening, having been obliged to walk the 
last two miles over hard frozen roads, to the great annoy- 
[ 187 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

ance of our ankles and feet. Next morning the earth was 
thinly covered with snow, enough to make the road soft 
and prevent its being slippery. 

On leaving Askrigg we turned aside to see another 
waterfall. It was a beautiful morning, with driving snow 
showers, which disappeared by fits, and unveiled the east, 
which was all one delicious pale orange colour. After 
walking through two small fields, we came to a mill, 
which we passed; and in a moment a sweet little valley 
opened before us, with an area of grassy ground, and a 
stream dashing over various laminse of black rocks, close 
under a bank covered with firs ; the bank and stream on 
our left, another woody bank on our right, and the flat 
meadow in front, from which, as at Buttermere, the stream 
had retired as it were to hide itself under the shade. As 
we walked up this delightful valley we were tempted to 
look back perpetually on the stream, which reflected the 
orange lights of the morning among the gloomy rocks, 
with a brightness varying with the agitation of the current. 
The steeple of Askrigg was between us and the east, at 
the bottom of the valley ; it was not a quarter of a mile 
distant, but oh ! how far we were from it ! The two 
banks seemed to join before us with a facing of rock 
common to them both. When we reached this bottom 
the valley opened out again; two rocky banks on each 
side, which, hung with ivy and moss, and fringed luxuri- 
antly with brushwood, ran directly parallel to each other, 
and then approaching with a gentle curve at their point of 
union, presented a lofty waterfall, the termination of the 
valley. It was a keen frosty morning, showers of snow 
[ 138 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

threatening us, but the sun bright and active. We had 
a task of twenty-one miles to perform in a short winter's 
day. All this put our minds into such a state of excita- 
tion that we were no unworthy spectators of this delightful 
scene. On a nearer approach the waters seemed to fall 
down a tall arch or niche that had shaped itself by insen- 
sible moulderings in the wall of an old castle. We left 
this spot with reluctance, but highly exhilarated. 

When we had walked about a mile and a half we 
overtook two men with a string of ponies and some empty 
carts. I recommended to Dorothy to avail herself of this 
opportunity of husbanding her strength : we rode with 
them more than two miles. ; Twas bitter cold, the wind 
driving the snow behind us in the best style of a mountain 
storm. We soon reached an inn at a place called Hard- 
rane, and descending from our vehicles, after warming 
ourselves by the cottage fire, we walked up the brook-side 
to take a view of a third waterfall. We had not walked 
above a few hundred yards between two winding rocky 
banks before we came full upon the waterfall, which 
seemed to throw itself in a narrow line from a lofty wall 
of rock, the water, which shot manifestly to some distance 
from the rock, seeming to be dispersed into a thin shower 
scarcely visible before it reached the basin. We were dis- 
appointed in the cascade itself, though the introductory 
and accompanying banks were an exquisite mixture of 
grandeur and beauty. We walked up to the fall; and 
what would I not give if I could convey to you the feel- 
ings and images which were then communicated to me? 
After cautiously sounding our way over stones of all col- 
[ 139 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

ours and sizes, encased in the clearest water formed by the 
spray of the fall, we found the rock, which before had 
appeared like a wall, extending itself over our heads, like 
the ceiling of a huge cave, from the summit of which the 
waters shot directly over our heads into a basin, and among 
fragments wrinkled over with masses of ice as white as 
snow, or rather, as Dorothy says, like congealed froth. 
The water fell at least ten yards from us, and we stood 
directly behind it, the excavation not so deep in the rock 
as to impress any feeling of darkness, but lofty and mag- 
nificent; but in connection with the adjoining banks ex- 
cluding as much of the sky as could well be spared from 
a scene so exquisitely beautiful. 

The spot where we stood was as dry as the chamber 
in which I am now sitting, and the incumbent rock, of 
which the groundwork was limestone, veined and dappled 
with colours which melted into each other with every 
possible variety of colour. On the summit of the cave 
were three festoons, or rather wrinkles, in the rock, run 
up parallel like the folds of a curtain when it is drawn up. 
Each of these was hung with icicles of various length, and 
nearly in the middle of the festoon in the deepest valley of 
the waves that ran parallel to each other, the stream shot 
from the rows of icicles in irregular fits of strength, and 
with a body of water that varied every moment. Some- 
times the stream shot into the basin in one continued 
current ; sometimes it was interrupted almost in the midst 
of its fall, and was blown towards part of the waterfall at 
no great distance from our feet like the heaviest thunder- 
shower. In such a situation you have at every moment 
[ 140 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

a feeling of the presence of the sky. Large fleecy clouds 
drove over our heads above the rush of the water, and the 
sky appeared of a blue more than usually brilliant. The 
rocks on each side, which, joining with the side of this 
cave, formed the vista of the brook, were chequered with 
three diminutive waterfalls or rather courses of water. 
Each of these was a miniature of all that summer and 
winter can produce of delicate beauty. The rock in the 
centre of the falls, where the water was most abundant, 
a deep black, the adjoining parts yellow, white, purple, 
and dove-colour, covered with water-plants of the most 
vivid green, and hung with streaming icicles, that in some 
places seemed to conceal the verdure of the plants, and the 
violet and yellow variegation of the rocks; and in some 
places render the colours more brilliant. 

I cannot express to you the enchanting effect produced 
by this Arabian scene of colour as the wind blew aside the 
great waterfall behind which we stood and alternately hid 
and revealed each of these fairy cataracts in irregular 
succession, or displayed them with various gradations of 
distinctness as the intervening spray was thickened or dis- 
persed. What a scene, too, in summer ! In the luxury of 
our imagination we could not help feeding upon the pleas- 
ure which this cave, in the heat of a July noon, would 
spread through a frame exquisitely sensible. That huge 
rock on the right, the bank winding round on the left 
with all its living foliage, and the breeze stealing up the 
valley, and bedewing the cavern with the freshest imagin- 
able spray. And then the murmur of the water, the quiet, 
the seclusion, and a long summer day. 
[ 141 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

FROM DOEOTHY WOEDSWOETH TO MES. 
MARSHALL 

Grasmere, September 10, 1800. 

We are daily more delighted with Grasmere and its 
neighbourhood. Our walks are perpetually varied, and we 
are more fond of the mountains as our acquaintance with 
them increases. We have a boat upon the lake, and a 
small orchard, and a small garden; which, as it is the 
work of our own hands, we regard with pride and partial- 
ity. This garden we enclosed from the road, and pulled 
down a fence which formerly divided it from the orchard. 
The orchard is very small ; but then it is a delightful one, 
from its retirement, and the excessive beauty of the pros- 
pect from it. Our cottage is quite large enough for us, 
though very small ; and we have made it neat and com- 
fortable within doors, and it looks very nice on the outside, 
for though the roses and honeysuckles, which we have 
planted against it, are only of this year's growth, yet it is 
covered all over with green leaves and scarlet flowers ; for 
we have trained scarlet beans upon threads, which are not 
only exceedingly beautiful, but very useful, as their prod- 
uce is immense. The only objection we have to our 
house is that it is rather too near the road ; and from its 
smallness, and the manner in which it is built, noises pass 
from one part of the house to the other ; so that if we had 
any visitors, a sick person could not be in quietness. . . . 
My brother John has been with us eight months, during 
which time we have had a good deal of company. . . . 
[ 142 ] 



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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

William is going to publish a second edition of the 
" Lyrical Ballads/' with a second volume. He intends to 
give them the title of " Poems by W. Wordsworth/' as 
Mrs Eobinson has claimed the title, and is about publish- 
ing a volume of Lyrical Tales} This is a great objec- 
tion to the former title, particularly as they are both 
printed at the same press, and Longman is the publisher 
of both works. The first volume sold much better than 
we expected, and was liked by a much greater number of 
people; not that we had ever much doubt of its finally 
making its way; but we knew that poems, so different 
from what have in general become popular immediately 
after their publication, were not likely to be admired all at 
once. The first volume, I have no doubt, has prepared a 
number of purchasers for the second ; and, independently 
of that, I think the second is much more likely to please 
the generality of readers. William's health is by no means 
strong. He has written a great deal since we first went to 
Alfoxden, namely, during the years preceding our going 
into Germany, while we were there, and since our arrival 
in England; and he writes with so much feeling and 
agitation that it brings on a sense of pain. . . . 

We have spent a week at Mr Coleridge's since his 
arrival at Keswick. His house is most delightfully sit- 
uated, and combines all possible advantages both for his 
wife and himself. She likes to be near a town, he in the 
country. It is only half or quarter of a mile from Kes- 
wick, and commands a view of the whole vale. . . . 

1 A volume, "Lyrical Tales," was published at London in 1800, written 
by Mrs. Mary Robinson. 

[ 143 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

William and John were in Yorkshire last summer/ at 
Goredale, Yordas, &c. Thence they went to see our 
friends the Hutchinsons. 2 During their absence I felt 
myself very lonely. . . . We are very comfortably situated 
with respect to neighbours of the lower classes. They are 
excellent people, friendly in performing all offices of friend- 
ship and humanity, and attentive to us without servility. 
If we were sick they would wait upon us night and day. 
We are also upon very intimate terms with one family in 
the middle rank of life, a clergyman 3 with a very small 
income, his wife, son, and daughter. The old man is 
upwards of eighty, yet he goes a-fishing to the tarns on 
the hill-tops with my brothers, and he is as active as any 
man of fifty. His wife is a delightful old woman, mild 
and gentle, yet cheerful in her manners, and much of the 
gentlewoman, so made by long exercise of the duties of a 
wife and a mother, and the charities of a neighbour ; for 
she has lived forty years in the Yale and seldom left her 
home. . . . 

We walk at all times of the day ; we row upon the 
water; and, in the summer, sit a great part of our time 
under the apple trees of the orchard, or in a wood close by 
the lake side. William writes verses. John goes fishing. 
We read the books we have, and such as we can procure. 
I read German, partly as preparatory to translating ; but I 
am unfit for the task alone, and William is better employed, 

1 They left Grasmere on May 14, and returned on June 7, 1800. 

2 Mary Hutchinson, of this family, became the wife of Wordsworth two 
years later. 

3 Sympson, the Pastor of " The Excursion." 

[ 1U ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

so I do not know when it will turn to much account. If 
William's name rises amongst the booksellers we shall 
have no occasion for it. We often have our friends calling 
in upon us. Mr Clarkson is the man who took so 
much pains about the slave trade. He has a farm at 
Ullswater, and has built a house. Mrs C. is a pleasant 
woman. 

EMMA'S DELL 1 

It was an April morning : fresh and clear 

The Bivulet, delighting in its strength, 

Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice 

Of waters which the winter had supplied 

Was softened down into a vernal tone. 

The spirit of enjoyment and desire, 

And hopes and wishes, from all living things 

Went circling, like a multitude of sounds. 

The budding groves seemed eager to urge on 

The steps of June ; as if their various hues 

Were only hindrances that stood between 

Them and their object : but, meanwhile, prevailed 

Such an entire contentment in the air 

That every naked ash, and tardy tree 

Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance 

With which it looked on this delightful day 

Were native to the summer. — Up the brook 

1 This poem was suggested on the hanks of the hrook that runs through 
Easedale, which is, in some parts of its course, as wild and heautiful as 
hrook can be. I have composed thousands of verses by the side of it. 
(Wordsworth's Note.) 

10 [ 145 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

I roamed in the confusion of my heart, 
Alive to all things and forgetting all. 
At length I to a sudden turning came 
In this continuous glen, where down a rock 
The Stream, so ardent in its course before, 
Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all 
Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice 
Of common pleasure : beast and bird, the lamb, 
The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush 
Vied with this waterfall, and made a song, 
Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth 
Or like some natural produce of the air, 
That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here; 
But 't was the foliage of the rocks — the birch, 
The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn, 
With hanging islands of resplendent furze : 
And, on a summit, distant a short space, 
By any who should look beyond the dell, 
A single mountain-cottage might be seen. 
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said, 
" Our thoughts at least are ours ; and this wild nook, 
My Emma, I will dedicate to thee." 
— Soon did the spot become my other home, 
My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. 
And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, 
To whom I sometimes in our idle talk 
Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps, 
Years after we are gone and in our graves, 
When they have cause to speak of this wild place, 
May call it by the name of Emma's Dell. 
[ 146 ] 




fcg 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

THE DAFFODILS; OR, "I WANDERED 
LONELY AS A CLOUD" 1 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 
That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 
A host, of golden daffodils ; 
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 2 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way, 
They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced ; but they 

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : 

A poet could not but be gay, 

In such a jocund company : 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought : 

1 The Daffodils grew and still grow on the margin of Ullswater, and 
probably may be seen to this day as beautiful in the month of March, 
nodding their golden heads beside the dancing and foaming waves. (Words- 
worth's Note.) 

2 When we were in the woods beyond Gowbarrow Park we saw a few 
daffodils ... as we went along there were more and yet more. . . . 
I never saw daffodils so beautiful . . . they tossed and reeled and danced, 
and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind, that blew upon them 
over the lake ; they looked so gay, ever glancing, ever changing. (Doro- 
thy's Journal, April 15, 1802.) 

[ 147 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 
In vacant or in pensive mood, 
They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude ; 1 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

POEMS RELATING TO NAB-SCAR 

I. THE WATERFALL AND THE EGLANTINE 2 

I 
" Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf/' 
Exclaimed an angry Voice, 
" Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self 
Between me and my choice ! " 
A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows 
Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose, 
That, all bespattered with his foam, 
And dancing high and dancing low, 
"Was living, as a child might know, 
In an unhappy home. 

II 
" Dost thou presume my course to block ? 
Off, off ! or, puny Thing ! 
I Tl hurl thee headlong with the rock 
To which thy fibres cling." 

1 These two lines were written by Mrs. Wordsworth. 

2 We determined to go under Nab-Scar. . . . Coleridge and I pushed 
on before and sat down upon a rocky seat. Win. came to us and repeated his 
poems (referring to this and following poem). (Dorothy's Journal, April 
23, 1802.) 

[ 148 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

The Elood was tyrannous and strong ; 
The patient Briar suffered long, 
Nor did he utter groan or sigh, 
Hojnng the danger would be past ; 
But, seeing no relief, at last, 
He ventured to reply. 

Ill 
" Ah ! " said the Briar, " blame me not ; 
Why should we dwell in strife ? 
We who in this sequestered spot 
Once lived a happy life ! 
You stirred me on my rocky bed — 
What pleasure through my veins you spread 
The summer long, from day to day, 
My leaves you freshened and bedewed ; 
Nor was it common gratitude 
That did your cares repay. 

IV 
" When spring came on with bud and bell, 
Among these rocks did I 
Before you hang my wreaths to tell 
That gentle days were nigh ! 
And in the sultry summer hours, 
I sheltered you with leaves and flowers ; 
And in my leaves — now shed and gone, 
The linnet lodged, and for us two 
Chanted his pretty songs, when you 
Had little voice or none. 

[ 149 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

V 
" But now proud thoughts are in your breast — 
What grief is mine you see, 
Ah ! would you think, even yet how blest 
Together we might be ! 
Though of both leaf and flower bereft, 
Some ornaments to me are left — 
Eich store of scarlet hips is mine, 
With which I, in my humble way, 
Would deck you many a winter day, 
A happy Eglantine ! " 

VI 
What more he said I cannot tell, 
The torrent down the rocky dell 
Came thundering loud and fast ; 
I listened, nor aught else could hear ; 
The Briar quaked — and much I fear 
Those accents were his last. 

IL THE OAK AND THE BROOM 1 

A PASTORAL 
I 

His simple truths did Andrew glean 
Beside the babbling rills ; 
A careful student he had been 
Among the woods and hills. 

1 Suggested upon the mountain pathway that leads from Upper Rydal 
to Grasmere. The ponderous hlock of stone which is meutioned in the 
poem, remains, I believe, to this day, a good way up Nab-Sear. Broom 

[ iso ] 




^ 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 181S 

One winter's night, when through the trees 
The wind was roaring, on his knees 
His youngest born did Andrew hold : 
And while the rest, a ruddy quire, 
"Were seated round their blazing fire, 
This Tale the Shepherd told. 

II 

" I saw a crag, a lofty stone 

As ever tempest beat ! 

Out of its head an Oak had grown, 

A Broom out of its feet. 

The time was March, a cheerful noon — 

The thaw-wind, with the breath of June, 

Breathed gently from the warm south-west : 

When, in a voice sedate with age, 

This Oak, a giant and a sage, 

His neighbour thus addressed : — 

III 

" ' Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay 

Along this mountain's edge, 

The Frost hath wrought both night and day, 

Wedge driving after wedge. 

Look up ! and think, above your head 

What trouble, surely, will be bred ; 

Last night I heard a crash — 't is true, 

The splinters took another road — 

I see them yonder — what a load 

For such a Thing as you ! 

grows under it, and in many places on the side of the precipice. (Words- 
worth's Note.) 

[ 151 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

IV 
" ' You are preparing as before, 
To deck your slender shape ; 
And yet, just three years back — no more — 
You had a strange escape : 
Down from yon cliff a fragment broke ; 
It thundered down, with fire and smoke, 
And hitherward pursued its way ; 
This ponderous block was caught by me, 
And o'er your head, as you may see, 
'T is hanging to this day ! 

V 
" l If breeze or bird to this rough steep 
Your kind's first seed did bear ; 
The breeze had better been asleep, 
The bird caught in a snare : 
For you and your green twigs decoy 
The little witless shepherd-boy 
To come and slumber in your bower ; 
And, trust me, on some sultry noon, 
Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon ! 
Will perish in one hour. 

VI 
" * From me this friendly warning take ' — 
The Broom began to doze, 
And thus, to keep herself awake, 
Did gently interpose : 
' My thanks for your discourse are due ; 
[ 152 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

That more than what you say is true, 
I know, and I have known it long ; 
Frail is the bond by which we hold 
Our being, whether young or old, 
Wise, foolish, weak, or strong. 

VII 
" ' Disasters, do the best we can, 
Will reach both great and small ; 
And he is oft the wisest man, 
Who is not wise at all. 
For me, why should I wish to roam ? 
This spot is my paternal home, 
It is my pleasant heritage ; 
My father many a happy year, 
Spread here his careless blossoms, here 
Attained a good old age. 

YIII 
" ' Even such as his may be my lot. 
What cause have I to haunt 
My heart with terrors ? Am I not 
In truth a favoured plant ! 
On me such bounty Summer pours, 
That I am covered o'er with flowers ; 
And when the Frost is in the sky, 
My branches are so fresh and gay 
That you might look at me and say, 
This Plant can never die. 

[153] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

IX 

" ' The butterfly, all green and gold, 

To me hath often flown, 

Here in my blossoms to behold 

Wings lovely as his own. 

When grass is chill with rain or dew, 

Beneath my shade, the mother-ewe 

Lies with her infant lamb ; I see 

The love they to each other make, 

And the sweet joy which they partake, 

It is a joy to me/ 

X 

" Her voice was blithe, her heart was light : 
The Broom might have pursued 
Her speech, until the stars of night 
Their journey had renewed; 
But in the branches of the oak 
Two ravens now began to croak 
Their nuptial song, a gladsome air; 
And to her own green bower the breeze 
That instant brought two stripling bees 
To rest, or murmur there. 

XI 

" One night, my Children ! from the north 
There came a furious blast; 
At break of day I ventured forth, 
And near the cliff I passed. 
[ 154 ] 



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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

The storm had fallen upon the Oak, 
And struck him with a mighty stroke, 
And whirled, and whirled him far away ; 
And in one hospitable cleft, 
The little careless Broom was left 
To live for many a day/' 



III. "YES, IT WAS THE MOUNTAIN ECHO" 1 

Yes, it was the mountain Echo, 
Solitary, clear, profound, 
Answering to the shouting Cuckoo, 
Giving to her sound for sound ! 

Unsolicited reply 

To a babbling wanderer sent ; 

Like her ordinary cry, 

Like — but oh, how different ! 

Hears not also mortal Life ? 
Hear not we, unthinking Creatures ! 
Slaves of folly, love, or strife — 
Yoices of two different natures ? 

Have not we too ? — yes, we have 
Answers, and we know not whence; 
Echoes from beyond the grave, 
Recognised intelligence ! 

1 The echo came from Nah-scar, when I was walking on the opposite 
side of Rydal Mere. (Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 155 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Such rebounds our inward ear 
Catches sometimes from afar — 
Listen, ponder, hold them dear ; 
For of God, — of God they are. 



THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS; OR, DUNGEON- 
GHYLL FORCE 

A PASTORAL 

The valley rings with mirth and joy ; 

Among the hills the echoes play 

A never, never-ending song 

To welcome in the May. 

The magpie chatters with delight ; 

The mountain raven's youngling brood 

Have left the mother and the nest ; 

And they go rambling east and west 

In search of their own food ; 

Or through the glittering vapours dart 

In very wantonness of heart. 

Beneath a rock, upon the grass, 
Two boys are sitting in the sun ; 
Their work, if any work they have, 
Is out of mind — or done. 
On pipes of sycamore they play 
The fragments of a Christmas hymn ; 
Or with that plant which in our dale 
[ 156 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

We call stag-horn, or fox's tail, 
Their rusty hats they trim : 
And thus, as happy as the day, 
Those Shepherds wear the time away. 



Along the river's stony marge 

The sand-lark chants a joyous song; 

The thrush is busy in the wood, 

And carols loud and strong. 

A thousand lambs are on the rocks, 

All newly born ! both earth and sky 

Keep jubilee, and more than all, 

Those boys with their green coronal ; 

They never hear the cry, 

That plaintive cry ! which up the hill 

Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll. 

Said Walter, leaping from the ground, 
" Down to the stump of yon old yew 
We '11 for our whistles run a race." 

Away the shepherds flew ; 

They leapt — they ran — and when they came 

Eight opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, 

Seeing that he should lose the prize, 

" Stop ! M to his comrade Walter cries — 

James stopped with no good will : 

Said Walter then, exulting j " Here 

You '11 find a task for half a year. 

[ 157 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

" Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross — 

Come on, and tread where I shall tread." 

The other took him at his word, 

And followed as he led. 

It was a spot which you may see 

If ever you to Langdale go ; 

Into a chasm a mighty block 

Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock : 

The gulf is deep below ; 

And, in a basin black and small, 

Receives a lofty waterfall. 

With staff in hand across the cleft 

The challenger pursued his march ; 

And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained 

The middle of the arch. 

When list ! he hears a piteous moan — 

Again ! — his heart within him dies — 

His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost, 

He totters, pallid as a ghost, 

And, looking down, espies 

A lamb, that in the pool is pent 

Within that black and frightful rent. 

The lamb had slipped into the stream, 
And safe without a bruise or wound 
The cataract had borne him down 
Into the gulf profound. 
His dam had seen him when he fell, 
She saw him down the torrent borne ; 
[ 158 ] 



"TJUNGEON-GHYLL Force, Langdale. 




It was a spot which you may see 

If ever you to Langdale go ; 

Into a chasm a mighty block 

Hath fallen, and 'made a bridge of rock; 

The gulf is deep below; 

And, in a basin black and small, 

Receives a lofty vat erf nil." 

— The Idle Shepherd-Boys, p. 158. 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

And, while with all a mother's love 

She from the lofty rocks above 

Sent forth a cry forlorn, 

The lamb, still swimming round and round, 

Made answer to that plaintive sound. 

When he had learnt what thing it was, 
That sent this rueful cry ; I ween 
The Boy recovered heart, and told 
The sight which he had seen. 
Both gladly now deferred their task ; 
Nor was there wanting other aid — 
A Poet, one who loves the brooks 
Far better than the sages' books, 
By chance had thither strayed ; 
And there the helpless lamb he found 
By those huge rocks encompassed round. 

He drew it from the troubled pool, 

And brought it forth into the light : 

The Shepherds met him with his charge, 

An unexpected sight ! 

Into their arms the lamb they took, 

Whose life and limbs the flood had spared ; 

Then up the steep ascent they hied, 

And placed him at his mother's side ; 

And gently did the Bard 

Those idle Shepherd-boys upbraid, 

And bade them better mind their trade. 

[ 159 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

A FAEEWELL 1 

Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground, 

Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair 

Of that magnificent temple which doth bound 

One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare ; 

Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair, 

The loveliest spot that man hath ever found, 

Farewell ! — we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care, 

Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround. 

Our boat is safely anchored by the shore, 
And there will safely ride when we are gone ; 
The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door 
Will prosper, though untended and alone : 
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none : 
These narrow bounds contain our private store 
Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon ; 
Here are they in our sight — we have no more. 

Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell ! 
For two months now in vain we shall be sought : 
We leave you here in solitude to dwell 
With these our latest gifts of tender thought ; 
Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat, 
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell ! 
Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought, 
And placed together near our rocky Well. 

1 Written in 1802, on leaving Grasmere to bring home his bride from 
Gallow-hill, near Scarborough. 

[ 160 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

We go for One to whom ye will be dear ; 
And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed, 
Our own contrivance, Building without peer ! 
— A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred, 
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered, 
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer, 
Will come to you ; to you herself will wed ; 
And love the blessed life that we lead here. 

Dear Spot ! which we have watched with tender heed, 
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown 
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed, 
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own, 
Making all kindness registered and known ; 
Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child indeed, 
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone, 
Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. 

And most constant, yet most fickle Place, 
Thou hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show 
To them who look not daily on thy face ; 
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know, 
And say'st when we forsake thee, " Let them go ! " 
Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race 
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow, 
And travel with the year at a soft pace. 

Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by, 
And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best ; 
Joy will be flown in its mortality ; 
Something must stay to tell us of the rest. 
H [ 161 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rocFs breast 

Glittered at evening like a starry sky ; 

And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, 

Of which I sang one song that will not die. 

O happy Garden ! whose seclusion deep 
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours ; 
And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep 
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers, 
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers ; 
Two burning months let summer overleap, 
And, coming back with Her who will be ours, 
Into thy bosom we again shall creep. 

"SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT" 1 

She was a Phantom of delight 
When first she gleamed upon my sight ; 
A lovely Apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament; 
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ; 
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; 
But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn ; 
A dancing Shape, an Image gay, 
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin- liberty ; 

1 To Mrs. Wordsworth ; -written two years after their marriage. 

[ 162 ] 



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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet; 

A Creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food ; 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A Being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A Traveller between life and death ; 
The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; 
A perfect Woman, nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, and command; 
And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
With something of angelic light. 

TO SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT 1 

Grasmere, 14th October, 1803. 
. . . Owing to a set of painful and uneasy sensations 
which I have, more or less, at all times about my chest, 
from a disease which chiefly affects my nerves and diges- 
tive organs, and which makes my aversion from writing 
little less than madness, I deferred writing to you, being 

1 Sir George Beaumont had presented Wordsworth (whom he had not 
yet met) with a small property at Applethwaite, three miles west of Greta 
HaU, where Coleridge was then living, in order that the two poets might 
resume the familiar intercourse of Somersetshire days. This act was the 
beginning of a life-long friendship, although the scheme of residence there 
was never carried out. 

[ 163 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

at first made still more uncomfortable by travelling, and 
loathing to do violence to myself, in what ought to be an 
act of pure pleasure and enjoyment, viz., the expression of 
my deep sense of your goodness. This feeling was, indeed, 
so strong in me, as to make me look upon the act of writ- 
ing to you, not as the work of a moment, but as a busi- 
ness with something little less than awful in it, a thing not 
to be done but in my best, my purest, and my happiest 
moments. ... At last, I said, I will write at home from 
my own fireside, when I shall be at ease and in comfort. 
I have now been more than a fortnight at home, but the 
uneasiness in my chest has made me beat off the time 
when the pen was to be taken up. I do not know from 
what cause it is, but during the last three years I have 
never had a pen in my hand for five minutes, before my 
whole frame becomes one bundle of uneasiness ; a perspira- 
tion starts out all over me, and my chest is oppressed in a 
manner I cannot describe. . . . But I have troubled you 
far too much with this. Such I am, however, and deeply 
I regret that I am such. I shall conclude with solemnly 
assuring you, late as it is, that nothing can wear out of my 
heart, as long as my faculties remain, the deep feeling which 
I have of your delicate and noble conduct towards me. 

It is now high time to speak of the estate, and what is 
to be done with it. It is a most delightful situation, and 
few things would give me greater pleasure than to realise 
the plan which you had in view for me. But I am afraid, 
I am sorry to say, that the chances are very much against 
this, partly on account of the state of my own affairs, and 
still more from the improbability of Mr Coleridge's con- 
[ 164 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

tinuing in the country. The writings are at present in my 
possession, and what I should wish is, that I might be con- 
sidered at present as steward of the land, with liberty to 
lay out the rent in planting, or any other improvement 
which might be thought advisable, with a view to building 
upon it. And if it should be out of my own power to 
pitch my tent there, I would then request that you would 
give me leave to restore the property to your own hands, 
in order that you might have the opportunity of again 
presenting it to some worthy person who might be so 
fortunate as to be able to make that pleasant use of it 
which it was your wish I should have done. 1 . . . How 
often did we wish for five minutes' command of your 
pencil while we were in Scotland ! or rather that you had 
been with us. Sometimes I am sure you would have been 
delighted. In one thing Scotland is superior to every 
country I have travelled in ; I mean the graceful beauty of 
the dresses and figures. There is a tone of imagination 
about them beyond anything I have seen elsewhere. 

TO SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT 

Grasmere, July 20, 1804. 
. . . How sorry we all are under this roof that we 
cannot have the pleasure of seeing you and Lady Beau- 
mont down this summer ! The weather has been most 
glorious, and the country, of course, most delightful. 

1 This Applethwaite property was formally conveyed to Wordsworth 
soon after, and is still in possession of the family. A pencil note by Dora 
Wordsworth says her father made it over to her when she was a " frail, 
feeble monthling." 

[ 165 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Our own valley in particular was last night, by the light 
of the full moon, and in the perfect stillness of the lake, 
a scene of loveliness and repose as affecting as was ever 
beheld by the eye of man. . . . 

That Loughrigg Tarn, beautiful pool of water as it is, 
is a perpetual mortification to me when I think that you 
and Lady Beaumont were so near having a summer-nest 
there. 1 This is often talked over among us ; and we 
always end the subject with a heigh ho ! of regret. But 
1 must think of concluding. My sister thanks Lady 
Beaumont for her last letter, and will write to her in a 
few days"; but I must say to her myself how happy I was 
to hear that her sister had derived any consolation from 
Coleridge's poems and mine. I must also add how much 
pleasure it gives me that Lady Beaumont is so kindly, so 
affectionately disposed to my dear and good sister, and 
also to the other unknown parts of my family. Could we 
but have Coleridge back among us again ! There is no 
happiness in this life but in intellect and virtue. 

TO SIB, WALTEE SCOTT 

January 16, 1805. 
• ••••• 

If you come next summer Southey will almost cer- 
tainly be at Keswick, and I hope Coleridge also ; although 
it will be the duty of all his friends to do their utmost 

1 Sir George Beaumont had purchased Loughrigg Tarn intending to 
build a summer cottage on it. But the plan was abandoned, the tarn re- 
sold, and the money from it given to Wordsworth. He applied it to the 
purchase of yew-trees for Grasmere churchyard, where they still grow, one 
of them overshadowing the poet's grave. 

[ 166 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

in forcing him from the country, to which he is so much 
attached, but the rainy climate disagrees with him miser- 
ably. When Coleridge has found out a residence better 
suited to his state of health, we shall remove and settle 
near him. I mention these things that you may be pre- 
vailed upon to come and see us here, while we are yet such 
near neighbours of yours, and inhabitants of a country, the 
more retired beauties of which we can lead you to better 
than anybody else. . . . 

I am very glad to hear of your farm on Tweedside. 
You will be quite in the district of your own most inter- 
esting local feelings, a charming country besides; and I 
was not a little glad it brought you so much nearer to us, 
instead of removing you so much further away from us. 
I sincerely wish you fortune in your farming labours, good 
crops, thriving cattle, and little vexation. 

On the other side you will find a few stanzas, which I 

hope (for the subject at least) will give you some pleasure. 1 

I wrote them, not without a view of pleasing you, soon 

after our return from Scotland, though I have been too 

lazy to send them to you till now. They are in the same 

sort of metre as the Leader Haughs, and I have borrowed 

the name Burn-mill meadow from that poem, for which I 

wish you would substitute something that may really be 

found in the Vale of Yarrow. . . . Believe me, your 

sincere friend, 

W. Wordsworth. 

1 The " few stanzas " here referred to are the poem " Yarrow Unvisited " 
here following, — a memorial of Wordswoi-th's visit in 1803. Wordsworth 
made four trips in Scotland. " Yarrow Visited " and " Yarrow Revisited " 
are memorials of these later journeys. 

[167 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

YAEROW UNVISITED 

From Stirling castle we had seen 
The mazy Forth unravelled ; 
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, 
And with the Tweed had travelled ; 
And when we came to Clovenford, 
Then said my " winsome Marrow," 1 
" Whatever betide, we'll turn aside, 
And see the Braes of Yarrow." 

' ' Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, 
Who have been buying, selling, 
Go back to Yarrow, 't is their own ; 
Each maiden to her dwelling ! 
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, 
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow ! 
But we will downward with the Tweed, 
Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 

" There 's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, 
Both lying right before us ; 
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed 
The lintwhites sing in chorus ; 
There 's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land 
Made blithe with plough and harrow : 
Why throw away a needful day 
To go in search of Yarrow ? 

1 A Scotch word for companion or sweetheart ; Dorothy was his fellow- 
traveller. 

T 168 ] 



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" The waves beside them danced ; but they 
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : 
A poet could not but be gay, 
In such a jocund company." 

— I Wandered Lonely, p. 147. 
See Notes to this poem. 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

" What 's Yarrow but a river bare, 

That glides the dark hills under ? 

There are a thousand such elsewhere 

As worthy of your wonder/'' 

■ — Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn ; 

My True-love sighed for sorrow ; 

And looked me in the face, to think 

I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 

" Oh ! green/' said I, " are Yarrow's holms, 
And sweet is Yarrow's flowing ! 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 
But we will leave it growing. 
O'er hilly path, and open j3trath, 
We '11 wander Scotland thorough ; 
But, though so near, we will not turn 
Into the dale of Yarrow. 

" Let beeves and home-bred kine partake 
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; 
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake 1 
Float double, swan and shadow ! 
We will not see them ; will not go, 
To-day, nor yet to-morrow, 
Enough if in our hearts we know 
There 's such a place as Yarrow. 

" Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown ! 
It must, or we shall rue it : 
We have a vision of our own ; 
Ah ! why should we undo it ? 

1 The Yarrow rises in St. Mary's Lake. 

[ 169 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

The treasured dreams of times long past, 
We '11 keep them, winsome Marrow ! 
For when we 're there, although 't is fair, 
'T will be another Yarrow ! 

" If Care with freezing years should come, 
And wandering seem but folly, — 
Should we be loth to stir from home, 
And yet be melancholy ; 
Should life be dull, and spirits low, 
'T will soothe us in our sorrow, 
That earth has something yet to show, 
The bonny holms of Yarrow ! " 

TO SIR GEOEGE BEAUMONT 

Grasmere, Feb. 20, 1805. 
. . . Let me again mention my beloved brother. 1 It 
is now just five years since — after a separation of four- 
teen years (I may call it a separation, for we only saw him 
four or five times, and by glimpses) — he came to visit 
his sister and me in this cottage, and passed eight blessed 
months with us. He was then waiting for the command 
of the ship to which he was appointed when he quitted us. 
As you will have seen, we had little to live upon, and he 
as little (Lord Lonsdale being then alive). 2 But he en- 

1 John Wordsworth (1772-1805). See "The Daisy," "Elegiac 
Verses," and " Peele Castle in a Storm," for Wordsworth's poetical tributes 
to this brother. 

2 Lord Lonsdale was much in debt to the Wordsworth estate. But 
these obligations were never settled until after his death, when his son, 
Lord Lowther, paid the full amount, principal and interest. 

[ 170 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

couraged me to persist, and to keep my eye steady on its 
object. He would work for me (that was his language), 
for me and his sister ; and I was to endeavour to do some- 
thing for the world. He went to sea, as commander, with 
this hope; his voyage was very unsuccessful, he having 
lost by it considerably. When he came home, we chanced 
to be in London, and saw him. " Oh ! " said he, " I have 
thought of you, and nothing but you ; if ever of myself, 
and my bad success, it was only on your account/' He 
went again to sea a second time, and also was unsuccess- 
ful; still with the same hopes on our account, though then 
not so necessary, Lord Lowther having paid the money. 
Lastly came the lamentable voyage, which he entered upon, 
full of expectation, and love to his sister and myself, and 
my wife, whom, indeed, he loved with all a brother's 
tenderness. This is the end of his part of the agreement 
— of his efforts for my welfare ! God grant me life and 
strength to fulfil mine ! I shall never forget him, — never 
lose sight of him. There is a bond between us yet, the 
same as if he were living, nay, far more sacred, calling 
upon me to do my utmost, as he to the last did his utmost 
to live in honour and worthiness. ... He was heard by 
one of the surviving officers giving orders, with all possible 
calmness, a very little before the ship went down; and 
when he could remain at his post no longer, then, and 
not till then, he attempted to save himself. I knew this 
would be so, but it was satisfactory for me to have it con- 
firmed by external evidence. Do not think our grief un- 
reasonable. Of all human beings whom I ever knew, he 
was the man of the most rational desires, the most sedate 
[ HI ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

habits, and the most perfect self-command. He was mod- 
est and gentle, and shy even to disease; but this was 
wearing off. In every thing his judgments were sound 
and original ; his taste in all the arts — music and poetry 
in particular (for these he, of course, had had the best 
opportunities of being familiar with) — was exquisite ; and 
his eye for the beauties of nature was as fine and delicate 
as ever poet or painter was gifted with, in some discrimi- 
nations — owing to his education and way of life — far 
superior to any person's I ever knew. But, alas ! what 
avails it ? It was the will of God that he should be 

taken away. 

• •■••• 

I trust in God that I shall not want fortitude; but 
my loss is great and irreparable. 



Your most affectionate friend, 



W. Wordsworth. 



TO SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT 

Grasmere, May 1, 1805. 

My dear Sir George, — I have wished to write to 
you every day this long time, but I have also had another 
wish, which has interfered to prevent me ; I mean the wish 
to resume my poetical labours : time was stealing away 
fast from me, and nothing done, and my mind still 
seeming unfit to do anything. 

At first I had a strong impulse to write a poem that 
should record my brother's virtues, and be worthy of his 
[ 172 ] 



D 



AFFODILS blooming on the Banks of Ullswater. 




" The waves beside them danced; but they 
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee." 

— The Daffodils, p. 



147. 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

memory. I began to give vent to my feelings, with this 
view, but I was overpowered by my subject, and could not 
proceed. I composed much, but it is all lost except a few 
lines, as it came from me in such a torrent that I was 
unable to remember it. I could not hold the pen myself, 
and the subject was such that I could not employ Mrs. 
Wordsworth or my sister as my amanuensis. This work 
must therefore rest a while till I am something calmer ; I 
shall, however, never be at peace till, as far as in me lies, 
I have done justice to my departed brother's memory. 
His heroic death (the particulars of which I have now 
accurately collected from several of the survivors) exacts 
this from me, and still more his singularly interesting 
character, and virtuous and innocent life. 

Unable to proceed with this work, I turned my thoughts 
again to the Poem on my own Life, 1 and you will be glad 
to hear that I have added 300 lines to it in the course of 
last week. Two books more will conclude it. It will be 
not much less than 9000 lines, — not hundred but thou- 
sand lines long, — an alarming length ! and a thing un- 
precedented in literary history that a man should talk so 
much about himself. It is not self-conceit, as you will 
know well, that has induced me to do this, but real humil- 
ity. I began the work because I was unprepared to treat 
any more arduous subject, and diffident of my own powers. 
Here, at least, I hoped that to a certain degree I should 
be sure of succeeding, as I had nothing to do but describe 
what I had felt and thought, and therefore could not easily 
be bewildered. This might have been done in narrower 

1 " The Prelude." 

[ 173 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

compass by a man of more address ; but I have done my 
best. If, when the work shall be finished, it appears to 
the judicious to have redundancies, they shall be lopped 
off, if possible j but this is very difficult to do, when a man 
has written with thought ; and this defect, whenever I have 
suspected it or found it to exist in any writings of mine, I 
have always found incurable. The fault lies too deep, and 
is in the first conception. If you see Coleridge before I 
do, do not speak of this to him, as I should like to have his 
judgment unpreoccupied by such an apprehension. . . . 

Is your building going on ? I was mortified that the 
sweet little valley, of which you spoke some time ago, was 
no longer in the possession of your family. It is the place, 
I believe, where that illustrious and most extraordinary 
man, Beaumont the poet, and his brother, were born. 
One is astonished when one thinks of that man having 
been only eight-and-twenty years of age, for I believe he 
was no more, when he died. Shakespeare, we are told, 
had scarcely written a single play at that age. I hope, for 
the sake of poets, you are proud of these men. . . . 

I am anxious to know how your health goes on : we are 
better than we had reason to expect. When we look back 
upon this spring, it seems like a dreary dream to us. But 
I trust in God that we shall yet " bear up and steer right 
onward." 

Farewell. — I am, your affectionate friend, 

W. Wordsworth. 



[ n* ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

POEMS RELATING TO JOHN WOBDSWOBTH 

"WHEN, TO THE ATTRACTIONS OF THE BUSY 
WORLD " 

When, to the attractions of the busy world, 
Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen 
A habitation in this peaceful Vale, 
Sharp season followed of continual storm 
In deepest winter ; and, from week to week, 
Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged 
With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill 
At a short distance from my cottage, stands 
A stately Eir-grove, whither I was wont 
To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof 
Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place 
Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor. 
Here in safe covert, on the shallow snow, 
And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth, 
The redbreast near me hopped ; nor was I loth 
To sympathise with vulgar coppice birds L ^ 
That, for protection from the nipping blast, 
Hither repaired. — A single beech -tree grew 
Within this grove of firs ! and, on the fork 
Of that one beech, appeared a thrush's nest ; 
A last year's nest, conspicuously built 
At such small elevation from the ground 
As gave sure sign that they, who in that house 
Of nature and of love had made their home 
Amid the fir-trees, all the summer long 
Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes, 
[ 175 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock, 
Would watch my motions with suspicious stare, 
From the remotest outskirts of the grove, — 
Some nook where they had made their final stand, 
Huddling together from two fears — the fear 
Of me and of the storm. Full many an hour 
Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees 
Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven 
In such perplexed and intricate array ; 
That vainly did I seek, beneath their stems 
A length of open space, where to and fro 
My feet might move without concern or care ; 
And, baffled thus, though eartli from day to day 
Was fettered, and the air by storm disturbed, 
I ceased the shelter to frequent, — and prized, 
Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess. 

The snows dissolved, and genial Spring returned 
To clothe the fields with verdure. Other haunts 
Meanwhile were mine ; till, one bright April day, 
By chance retiring from the glare of noon 
To this forsaken covert, there I found 
A hoary pathway traced between the trees, 
And winding on with such an easy line 
Along a natural opening, that I stood 
Much wondering how I could have sought in vain 
For what was now so obvious. To abide, 
For an allotted interval of ease, 
Under my cottage-roof, had gladly come 
From the wild sea a cherished Visitant ; 
And with the sight of this same path — begun, 
[ 176 ] 



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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Begun and ended, in the shady grove, 

Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind 

That, to this opportune recess allured, 

He had surveyed it with a finer eye, 

A heart more wakeful ; and had worn the track 

By pacing here, unwearied and alone, 

In that habitual restlessness of foot 

That haunts the Sailor measuring o'er and o'er 

His short domain upon the vessel's deck, 

While she pursues her course through the dreary sea. 

When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, 

And taken thy first leave of those green hills 

And rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth, 

Year followed year, my Brother ! and we two, 

Conversing not, knew little in what mould 

Each other's mind was fashioned ; and at length 

When once again we met in Grasmere Vale, 

Between us there was little other bond 

Than common feelings of fraternal love. 

But thou, a Schoolboy, to the sea hadst carried 

Undying recollections ! Nature there 

Was with thee ; she, who loved us both, she still 

Was with thee ; and even so didst thou become 

A silent Poet ; from the solitude 

Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart 

Still couchant, an inevitable ear, 

And an eye practised like a blind man's touch. 

— Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone; 

Nor from this vestige of thy musing hours 

Could I withhold thy honoured name, — and now 
12 [ m ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

I love the fir-grove with a perfect love. 

Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns 

Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong ; 

And there I sit at evening, when the steep 

Of Silver-how, and Grasmere's peaceful lake, 

And one green island, gleam between the stems 

Of the dark firs, a visionary scene ! 

And, while I gaze upon the spectacle 

Of clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight 

Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee, 

My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost. 

Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou, 

Muttering the verses which I muttered first 

Among the mountains, through the midnight watch 

Art pacing thoughtfully the vessel's deck 

In some far region, here, while o'er my head, 

At every impulse of the moving breeze, 

The fir-grove murmurs with a sea-like sound, 

Alone I tread this path ; — for aught I know, 

Timing my steps to thine ; and, with a store 

Of undistinguishable sympathies, 

Mingling most earnest wishes for the day 

When we, and others whom we love, shall meet 

A second time, in Grasmere's happy Yale. 

TO THE DAISY 

Sweet Elower ! belike one day to have 
A place upon thy Poet's grave, 
I welcome thee once more ; 
[ "8 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

But He, who was on land, at sea, 
My Brother, too, in loving thee, 
Although he loved more silently, 
Sleeps by his native shore. 



Ah ! hopeful, hopeful was the day 

When to that Ship he bent his way, 

To govern and to guide : 

His wish was gained : a little time 

Would bring him back in manhood's prime 

And free for life, these hills to climb ; 

With all his wants supplied. 

And full of hope day followed day 

While that stout Ship at anchor lay 

Beside the shores of Wight ; 

The May had then made all things green ; 

And, floating there, in pomp serene, 

That Ship was goodly to be seen, 

His pride and his delight ! 

Yet then, when called ashore, he sought 
The tender peace of rural thought : 
In more than happy mood 
To your abodes, bright daisy Flowers ! 
He then would steal at leisure hours, 
And loved you glittering in your bowers 
A starry multitude. 

[ 179 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

But hark the word ! — the ship is gone ; — 

Beturns from her long course : — anon 

Sets sail : — in season due, 

Once more on English earth they stand : 

But, when a third time from the land 

They parted, sorrow was at hand 

For Him and for his crew. 

Ill-fated Vessel ! — ghastly shock ! 

— At length delivered from the rock, 
The deep she hath regained ; 

And through the stormy night they steer ; 
Labouring for life, in hope and fear, 
To reach a safer shore — how near, 
Yet not to be attained ! 

" Silence ! " the brave Commander cried : 
To that calm word a shriek replied, 
It was the last death-shriek. 

— A few (my soul oft sees that sight) 
Survive upon the tall mast's height ; 
But one dear remnant of the night — 
For Him in vain I seek. 

Six weeks beneath the moving sea 
He lay in slumber quietly ; 
Unforced by wind or wave 
To quit the Ship for which he died, 
(All claims of duty satisfied); 
And there they found him at her side ; 
And bore him to the grave. 
[ 180 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Yain service ! yet not vainly done 
For this, if other end were none, 
That He, who had been cast 
Upon a way of life unmeet 
For such a gentle Soul and sweet, 
Should find an undisturbed retreat 
Near what he loved, at last — 

That neighbourhood of grove and field 

To Him a resting-place should yield, 

A meek man and a brave ! 

The birds shall sing and ocean make 

A mournful murmur for his sake ; 

And Thou, sweet Flower, shalt sleep and wake 

Upon his senseless grave. 

ELEGIAC VERSES 

IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, JOHN WORDSWORTH, 

Commander of the E. I. Company's ship The Earl of Abergavenny, in 
which he perished by calamitous shipwreck, Feb. 6, 1805. x 

I 
The Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo ! 
That instant, startled by the shock, 
The Buzzard mounted from the rock 
Deliberate and slow : 

1 Composed near the Mountain track that leads from Grasmere through 
Grisdale Hawes, where it descends towards Paterdale. 

" Here did we stop ; and here looked round, 
While each into himself descends." 

The point is two or three yards helow the outlet of Grisdale tarn, on a 
foot-road by which a horse may pass to Paterdale — a ridge of Helvellyn 
on the left, and the summit of Fairfield on the right. (Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 181 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Lord of the air, he took his flight ; 
Oh ! could he on that woeful night 
Have lent his wing, my Brother dear, 
For one poor moment's space to Thee, 
And all who struggled with the Sea, 
When safety was so near. 

II 

Thus in the weakness of my heart 

I spoke (but let that pang be still) 

When rising from the rock at will, 

I saw the Bird depart. 

And let me calmly bless the Power 

That meets me in this unknown Flower. 

Affecting type of him I mourn ! 

With calmness suffer and believe, 

And grieve, and know that I must grieve, 

Not cheerless, though forlorn. 

Ill 
Here did we stop ; and here looked round 
While each into himself descends, 
For that last thought of parting Friends 
That is not to be found. 
Hidden was Grasmere Yale from sight, 
Our home and his, his heart's delight, 
His quiet heart's selected home. 
But time before him melts away, 
And he hath feeling of a day 
Of blessedness to come. 

[ 182 ] 



a s ^ ^ 



S a 1 









8- 




THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

IV 

Full soon in sorrow did I weep, 

Taught that the mutual hope was dust, 

In sorrow, but for higher trust, 

How miserably deep ! 

All vanished in a single word, 

A breath, a sound, and scarcely heard : 

Sea — Ship — drowned — Shipwreck — so it came, 

The meek, the brave, the good, was gone ; 

He who had been our living John 

Was nothing but a name. 

V 
That was indeed a parting ! oh, 
Glad am I, glad that it is past ; 
Eor there were some on whom it cast 
Unutterable woe. 

But they as well as I have gains ; — 
From many a humble source, to pains 
Like these, there comes a mild release ; 
Even here I feel it, even this Plant 
Is in its beauty ministrant 
To comfort and to peace. 

VI 

He would have loved thy modest grace, 
Meek Flower ! To Him I would have said, 
" It grows upon its native bed 
Beside our Parting-place ; 
[ 183 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

There, cleaving to the ground, it lies 
With multitude of purple eyes, 
Spangling a cushion green like moss ; 
But we will see it, joyful tide ! 
Some day, to see it in its pride, 
The mountain will we cross/'' 

VII 
— Brother and Friend, if verse of mine 
Have power to make thy virtues known, 
Here let a monumental Stone 
Stand — sacred as a Shrine ; 2 
And to the few who pass this way, 
Traveller or Shepherd, let it say, 
Long as these mighty rocks endure, — 
Oh do not Thou too fondly brood, 
Although deserving of all good, 
On any earthly hope, however pure ! 

ELEGIAC STANZAS 

SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE, IN A STORM, 
PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT 2 

I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile ! 
Four summer weeks I dwelt. in sight of thee : 
I saw thee every day ; and all the while 
Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. 

1 In accordance with this wish, the Wordsworth Society has caused a 
memorial panel to be placed here, with inscription from this poem. 

2 This picture still hangs in Coleorton Hall. Peele Castle is situated on 
a small rocky island just off the coast of the Isle of Man. 

[ 184 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

So pure the sky, so quiet was the air ! 
So like, so very like, was day to day ! 
Whene'er I looked, thy Image still was there ; 
It trembled, but it never passed away. 

How perfect was the calui ! it seemed no sleep ; 
No mood, which season takes away, or brings : 
I could have fancied that the mighty Deep 
Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things. 

Ah I then, if mine had been the Painter's hand, 
To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, 
The light that never was, on sea or land, 
The consecration, and the Poet's dream ; 

I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile 
Amid a world how different from this ! 
Beside a sea that could not cease to smile ; 
On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 

Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house divine 
Of peaceful years ; a chronicle of heaven ; — 
Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine 
The very sweetest had to thee been given. 

A Picture had it been of lasting ease, 
Elysian quiet, without toil or strife ; 
No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, 
Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. 
[ 135 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, 
Such Picture would 1 at that time have made : 
And seen the soul of truth in every part, 
A stedfast peace that might not be betrayed. 

So once it would have been, — 't is so no more ; 
I have submitted to a new control : 
A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; 
A deep distress hath humanised my Soul. 

Not for a moment could I now behold 
A smiling sea, and be what I have been : 
The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old ; 
This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 

Then, Beaumont, Friend ! who would have been the Friend, 

If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, 

This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; 

This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. 

't is a passionate Work ! — yet wise and well, 
Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; 

That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, 
This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear ! 

And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 

1 love to see the look with which it braves, 
Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, 

The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 
[ 186 ] 




H 

a 
a 

w 
< 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, 
Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind ! 
Such happiness, wherever it be known, 
Is to be pitied ; for 't is surely blind. 

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, 
And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! 
Such sights, or worse, as are before me here. — 
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 



POEMS RELATING TO THE ROTHA 

"BROOK! WHOSE SOCIETY THE POET SEEKS" 1 

Brook ! whose society the Poet seeks, 
Intent his wasted spirits to renew ; 
And whom the curious Painter doth pursue 
Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks, 
And tracks thee dancing clown thy water-breaks ; 
If wish were mine some type of thee to view, 
Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do 
Like Grecian Artists, give thee human cheeks, 
Channels for tears ; no Naiad shouldst thou be, — 
Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints nor hairs : 
It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee 
With purer robes than those of flesh and blood, 
And hath bestowed on thee a safer good ; 
Unwearied joy, and life without its cares. 

1 The Rotha, or its tributary Easedale Beck, by tbe side of which 
"Wordsworth said he had composed thousands of verses. 

[ 187 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

LINES 1 

Loud is the Yale ! the Yoice is up 

With which she speaks when storms are gone, 

A mighty unison of streams ! 

Of all her Yoices, One ! 

Loud is the Yale ; — this inland Depth 
In peace is roaring like the Sea ; 
Yon star upon the mountain top 
Is listening quietly. 

Sad was I, even to pain deprest, 
Importunate and heavy load ! 
The Comforter hath found me here, 
Upon this lonely road ; 

And many thousands now are sad — 
"Wait the fulfilment of their fear ; 
For he must die who is their stay, 
Their glory disappear. 

A Power is passing from the earth 
To breathless Nature's dark abyss ; 
But when the great and good depart 
What is it more than this — 

1 Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy 
day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of 
Mr Fox was hourly expected. (Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 188 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

That Man, who is from God sent forth, 
Doth yet again to God return ? — 
Such ebb and flow must ever be, 
Then wherefore should we mourn ? 



TO ROTHA Q * 

Botha, my Spiritual Child ! this head was grey 

When at the sacred font for thee I stood; 

Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood, 

And shalt become thy own sufficient stay : 

Too late, I feel, sweet Orphan ! was the day 

For stedfast hope the contract to fulfil ; 

Yet shall my blessing hover o'er thee still, 

Embodied in the music of this Lay, 

Breathed forth beside the peaceful mountain Stream 

"Whose murmur soothed thy languid Mother's ear 

After her throes, this Stream of name more dear 

Since thou dost bear it, — a memorial theme 

For others ; for thy future self, a spell 

To summon fancies out of Time's dark cell. 

TO , IN HER SEVENTIETH YEAR! 2 . 

Such age how beautiful ! Lady bright, 
"Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined 
By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind 
To something purer and more exquisite 

1 Rotha Quillinaii, Wordsworth's goddaughter. 

2 Lady Fitzgerald, as described to me by Lady Beaumont. (Words- 
worth's Note.) 

[ 189 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Than flesh and blood ; whene'er thou meet'st my sight 
"When I behold thy blanched un withered cheek, 
Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white, 
And head that droops because the soul is meek, 
Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare ; 
That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb 
From desolation toward the genial prime ; 
Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air, 
And filling more and more with crystal light 
As pensive Evening deepens into night. 



TO SIE GEORGE BEAUMONT 

Grasmere, October 17, 1805. 

And now I am brought to the sentiment which occa- 
sioned this detail; I may say, brought back to my subject, 
which is this, — that all just and solid pleasure in natural 
objects rests upon two pillars, God and Man. Laying out 
grounds, as it is called, may be considered as a liberal art, 
in some sort like poetry and painting ; 1 and its object, like 
that of all the liberal arts, is, or ought to be, to move the 
affections under the control of good sense ; that is, of the 
best and wisest. Speaking with more precision, it is to 
assist Nature in moving the affections, and surely, as I 
have said, the affections of those who have the deepest per- 
ception of the beauty of Nature, who have the most 

1 Sir George Beaumont was planning changes to beautify his estate at 
Coleorton. Wordsworth's genius for landscape gardening was scarcely 
second to his genius for poetry, as was shown later. 

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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

valuable feelings, — that is, the most permanent, the most 
independent, the most ennobling, connected with Nature 
and human life. No liberal art aims merely at the grati- 
fication of an individual or a class : the painter or poet is 
degraded in proportion as he does so ; the true servants of 
the Arts pay homage to the human kind as impersonated 
in unwarped and enlightened minds. If this be so when 
we are merely putting together words or colours, how 
much more ought the feeling to prevail when we are in the 
midst of the realities of things ; of the beauty and harmony, 
of the joy and happiness, of living creatures ; of men and 
children, of birds and beasts, of hills and streams, and trees 
and flowers ; with the changes of night and day, evening 
and morning, summer and winter ; and all their unwearied 
actions and energies, as benign in the spirit that animates 
them as they are beautiful and grand in that form and 
clothing which is given to them for the delight of our 
senses ! 

But I must stop, for you feel these things as deeply as 
I; more deeply, if it were only for this, that you have 
lived longer. What then shall we say of many great 
mansions with their unqualified expulsion of human creat- 
ures from their neighbourhood, happy or not; houses, 
which do what is fabled of the upas-tree, that they breathe 
out death and desolation ! I know you will feel with me 
here, both as a man, and a lover and professor of the Arts. 
I was glad to hear from Lady Beaumont that you did not 
think of removing your village. Of course, much here 
will depend upon circumstances, above all, with what kind 
of inhabitants, from the nature of the employments in that 
[ 191 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

district, the village is likely to be stocked. But for my 
part, strip my neighbourhood of human beings, and I 
should think it one of the greatest privations I could 
undergo. You have all the poverty of solitude, nothing of 
its elevation. In a word, if I were disposed to write a 
sermon (and this is something like one) upon the subject 
of taste in natural beauty, I should take for my text the 
little pathway in Lowther Woods, and all which I had to 
say would begin and end in the human heart, as under the 
direction of Divine Nature, conferring value on the objects 
of the senses, and pointing out what is valuable in them. 

YEW-TREES 

There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, 

Which to this day stands single, in the midst 

Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore ; 

Not loth to furnish weapons for the bands 

Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched 

To Scotland's heaths ; or those that crossed the sea 

And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, 

Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Pcictiers. 

Of vast circumference and gloom profound 

This solitary Tree ! a living thing 

Produced too slowly ever to decay ; 

Of form and aspect too magnificent 

To be destroyed. But worthier still of note 

Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, * 

1 The Borrowdale " Four," as well as the Lorton Yew, are mere wrecks 
of their former selves. 

[ 192 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; 
Huge trunks ! and each particular trunk a growth 
Of intertwisted fibres serpentine 
Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved ; 
Nor uninformed with Phantasy, and looks 
That threaten the profane; — a pillared shade, 
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, 
By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged 
Perennially — beneath whose sable roof 
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked 
With unrejoicing berries — ghostly Shapes 
May meet at noontide ; Fear and trembling Hope, 
Silence and Foresight ; Death the Skeleton 
And Time the Shadow ; — there to celebrate, 
As in a natural temple scattered o'er 
With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, 
United worship ; or in mute repose 
To lie, and listen to the mountain flood 
Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves. 



WRITTEN IN MAECH 

WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF 
BROTHER'S WATER 

The Cock is crowing, 
The stream is flowing, 
The small birds twitter, 
The lake doth glitter, 
The green field sleeps in the sun ; 
13 [ 193 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

The oldest and youngest 
Are at work with the strongest ; 
The cattle are grazing, 
Their heads never raising ; 
There are forty feeding like one ! 

Like an army defeated 

The snow hath retreated, 

And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare hill ; 
The ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon 

There 's joy in the mountains ; 

There 's life in the fountains ; 

Small clouds are sailing, 

Blue sky prevailing ; 
The rain is over and gone ! 



PERSONAL TALK 

I 

I am not One who much or oft delight 
To season my fireside with personal talk. — 
Of friends, who live within an easy walk, 
Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight : 
And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, 
Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk, 
These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk 
Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-Viight. 
Better than such discourse doth silence long, 
Long, barren silence, square with my desire ; 
[ 194 ] 



a, 






4* 




THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

To sit without emotion, hope, or aim, 
In the loved presence of my cottage-fire, 
And listen to the flapping of the flame, 
Or kettle whispering its faint undersong. 

II 

" Yet life/' you say, " is life ; we have seen and see, 

And with a living pleasure we describe ; 

And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe 

The languid mind into activity. 

Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee 

Are fostered by the comment and the gibe.'" 

Even be it so ; yet still among your tribe, 

Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank not me ! 

Children are blest, and powerful ; their world lies 

More justly balanced ; partly at their feet, 

And part far from them : sweetest melodies 

Are those that are by distance made more sweet; 

Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes, 

He is a Slave ; the meanest we can meet ! 

Ill 

Wings have we, — and as far as we can go, 
We may find pleasure : wilderness and wood, 
Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood 
Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. 
Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, 
Are a substantial world, both pure and good : 
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, 
Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 
There find I personal themes, a plenteous store, 
[ 195 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Matter wherein right voluble I am, 

To which I listen with a ready ear ; 

Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear, — 

The gentle Lady married to the Moor ; 

And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb. 

IV 
Nor can I not believe but that hereby 
Great gains are mine ; for thus I live remote 
Erom evil-speaking ; rancour, never sought, 
Comes to me not ; malignant truth, or lie. 
Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I 
Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought: 
And thus from day to day my little boat 
Bocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. 
Blessings be with them — and eternal praise, 1 
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares- — 
The Poets, who on eartli have made us heirs 
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays ! 
Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs, 
Then gladly would I end my mortal days. 

ADMONITION 

Well niay'st thou halt — and gaze with brightening eye ! 

The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook 

Hath stirred thee deeply ; with its own dear brook, 

Its own small pasture, almost its own sky ! 

But covet not the Abode ; — forbear to sigh, 

1 The pedestal of Wordsworth's statue in Westminster bears these lines. 

[ 196 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

As many do, repining while they look ; 

Intruders — who would tear from Nature's book 

This precious leaf, with harsh impiety. 

Think what the home must be if it were thine, 

Even thine, though few thy wants ! — Roof, window, door, 

The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, 

The roses to the porch which they entwine : 

Yea, all, that now enchants thee, from the day 

On which it should be touched, would melt away. 



"BELOYED YALE!" 1 I SAID, "WHEN I 
SHALL CON" 

" Beloved Yale ! " I said, " when I shall con 
Those many records of my childish years, 
Remembrance of myself and of my peers 
Will press me down : to think of what is gone 
Will be an awful thought, if life have one." 
But when into the vale I came, no fears 
Distressed me ; from mine eyes escaped no tears ; 
Deep thought, or dread remembrance, had I none. 
By doubts and thousand petty fancies crost 
I stood, of simple shame the blushing Thrall ; 
So narrow seemed the brooks, the fields so small ! 
A Juggler's balls old Time about him tossed ; 
I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed ; and all 
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost. 

1 Hawkshead. 

[ 197 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; 
LATE AND SOON" 

The world is too much with us ; late arid soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : 
Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; 
The winds that will be howling at all hours, 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; 
For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; 
It moves us not. — Great God ! I 'd rather be 
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn \ 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 

TO SLEEP! 

THREE SONNETS 
I 

gentle Sleep ! do they belong to thee, 
These twinklings of oblivion ? Thou dost love 
To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove, 
A captive never wishing to be free. 
This tiresome night, O Sleep ! thou art to me 
A fly that up and down himself doth shove 
Upon a fretful rivulet, now above 
Now on the water vexed with mockery. 
[ 198 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

I have no pain that calls for patience, no ; 
Hence am I cross and peevish as a child : 
Am pleased by fits to have thee for my foe, 
Yet ever willing to be reconciled : 

gentle Creature ! do not use me so, 
But once and deeply let me be beguiled. 

II 
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, 
One after one ; the sound of rain, and bees 
Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, 
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky ; 

1 have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie 
Sleepless ! and soon the small bird's melodies 
Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees ; 
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 

Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, 
And could not win thee, Sleep ! by any stealth : 
So do not let me wear to-night away : 
Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth ? 
Come, blessed barrier between day and day, 
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health ! 

Ill 
Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep ! 
And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names ; 
The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames, 
When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep ! 
Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep 
In rich reward all suffering ; Balm that tames 
All anguish ; Saint that evil thoughts and aims 
[ 199 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Takest away, and into souls dost creep, 

Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone, 

I surely not a man ungently made, 

Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost ? 

Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown, 

Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed, 

Still last to come where thou art wanted most ! 



SONNETS OF PATBIOTISM 

IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802 1 

Eriend ! I know not which way I must look 

For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, 

To think that now our life is only drest 

For show ; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, 

Or groom ! — We must ran glittering like a brook 

In the open sunshine or we are unblest : 

The wealthiest man among us is the best : 

No grandeur now in nature or in book 

Delights us. Eapine, avarice, expense, 

This is idolatry ; and these we adore : 

Plain living and high thinking are no more : 

1 This was written immediately after my return from France to London, 
when I could not hut he struck, as here described, with the vanity aud pa- 
rade of our own country, especially in great towns and cities, as contrasted 
with the quiet, and I may say the desolation, that the revolution had pro- 
duced in France. This must be borne in mind, or else the reader may think 
that in this and the succeeding Sonnets I have exaggerated the mischief 
engendered and fostered among us by undisturbed wealth. (Wordsworth's 
Note.) 

[ 200 ] 



(\N the River Rothay, Grasrnere. 




" Bleak season icas it, turbulent and bleak, 
When hitherward ice journeyed side by side 

. The naked trees, 

The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared 

To question its, "Whence come yc, to what end?" 

— The Recluse, p. 12S. 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

The homely beauty of the good old cause 
Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence, 
And pure religion breathing household laws. 



LONDON, 1802 

Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour : 

England hath need of thee : she is a fen 

Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, 

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 

Have forfeited their ancient English dower 

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 

Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 

Thy soul was like a Star and dwelt apart : 

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : 

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 

So didst thou travel on. life's common way, 

In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 

The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 

" GREAT MEN HAVE BEEN AMONG US " 

Great men have been among us ; hands that penned 
And tongues that uttered wisdom — better none : 
The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington, 
Young Vane, and others who called Milton friend. 
These moralists could act and comprehend : 
They knew how genuine glory was put on ; 
Taught us how rightfully a nation shone 
[ 201 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

In splendour : what strength was, that would not bend 
But in magnanimous meekness. France, 't is strange, 
Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then. 
Perpetual emptiness ! unceasing change ! 
No single volume paramount, no code, 
No master spirit, no determined road ; 
But equally a want of books and men ! 

"IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF" 

It is not to be thought of that the Flood 
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea 
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity 
Hath flowed, " with pomp of waters, unwithstood," 
Roused though it be full often to a mood 
Which spurns the check of salutary bands, 
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands 
Should perish ; and to evil and to good 
Be lost forever. In our halls is hung 
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old : 
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue 
That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold 
Which Milton held. — In everything we are sprung 
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. 

"WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN MEMORY" 

When I have borne in memory what has tamed 
Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart 
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert 
The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed 
[ 202 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

I had, my country ! — am I to be blamed ? 
Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, 
Verily, in the bottom of my heart, 
Of those uufilial fears I am ashamed. 
For dearly must we prize thee ; we who find 
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men : 
And I by my affection was beguiled : 
What wonder if a Poet now and then, 
Among the many movements of his mind, 
Felt for thee as a lover or a child ! 



COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, 
SEPT. 3, 1802 1 

Earth has not anything to show more fair ; 
Dull would lie be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty : 
This City now doth, like a garment, wear 
The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
Open unto the fields, and to the sky ; 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
Never did sun more beautifully steep 
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 
The river glideth at his own sweet will : 
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 

1 Written on the roof of a coach, on my way to France. (Wordsworth's 
Note.) 

[ 203 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

TO THE CUCKOO 

blithe New-comer ! I have heard, 

1 hear thee and rejoice. 

Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, 
Or but a wandering Voice? 

While I am lying on the grass 
Thy twofold shout I hear, 
From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
At once far off, and near. 

Though babbling only to the Yale, 
Of sunshine and of flowers, 
Thou bringest unto me a tale 
Of visionary hours. 

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! 

Even yet thou art to me 

No bird, but an invisible thing, 

A voice, a mystery ; 

The same whom in my school-boy days 

1 listened to ; that Cry 

Which made me look a thousand ways 
In bush, and tree, and sky. 

To seek thee did I often rove 
Through woods and on the green ; 
And thou wert still a hope, a love ; 
Still longed for, never seen. 
[ 204 ] 





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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

And I can listen to thee yet ; 
Can lie upon the plain 
And listen, till I do beget 
That golden time again. 

O blessed Bird ! the earth we pace 
Again appears to be 
An unsubstantial, faery place ; 
That is fit home for Thee ! 



TO A SKY-LAEK 

(1805) 

Up with me ! up with me into the clouds ! 

For thy song, Lark, is strong ; 
Up with me, up with me into the clouds ! 

Singing, singing, 
With clouds and sky about thee ringing, 

Lift me, guide me till I find 
That spot which seems so to thy mind ! 

I have walked through wildernesses dreary 
And to-day my heart is weary ; 
Had I now the wings of a Faery, 
Up to thee would I fly. 
There is madness about thee, and joy divine 
In that song of thine ; 
Lift me, guide me high and high 
To thy banqueting-place in the sky. 
[ 205 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Joyous as morning 
Thou art laughing and scorning ; 
Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, 
And, though little troubled with sloth, 
Drunken Lark ! thou wouldst be loth 
To be such a traveller as I. 
Happy, happy Liver, 

With a soul as strong as a mountain river 

Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver, 

Joy and jollity be with us both ! 

Alas ! my journey, rugged and uneven, 

Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind : 

But hearing thee, or others of thy kind, 

As full of gladness and as free of heaven, 

I, with my fate contented, will plod on, 

And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done. 

TO A SKY-LAEK 

(1825) 

Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! 
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? 
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 
Those quivering wings composed, that music still ! 

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; 
A privacy of glorious light is thine ; 
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
[ 206 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; 
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ; 
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home ! 



"0 NIGHTINGALE! THOU SURELY ART" 

Nightingale ! thou surely art 
A creature of a ' c fiery heart " : — 

These notes of thine — they pierce and pierce ; 

Tumultuous harmony and fierce ! 

Thou sing'st as if the God of wine 

Had helped thee to a Yalentine ; 

A song in mockery and despite 

Of shades, and dews, and silent night ; 

And steady bliss, and all the loves 

Now sleeping in those peaceful groves. 

1 heard a Stock-dove sing or say 
His homely tale, this very day ; 
His voice was buried among trees, 
Yet to be come at by the breeze : 

He did not cease ; but cooed — and cooed ; 
And somewhat pensively he wooed : 
He sang of love, with quiet blending, 
Slow to begin and never ending ; 
Of serious faith, and inward glee ; 
That was the song — the song for me ! 



[ 207 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

"PELION AND OSS A FLOURISH SIDE BY 
SIDE " 

Pelion and Ossa flourish side by side, 

Together in immortal books enrolled : 

His ancient dower Olympus hath not sold ; 

And that inspiring Hill, which " did divide 

Into two ample horns his forehead wide/'' 

Shines with poetic radiance as of old ; 

While not an English Mountain we behold 

By the celestial Muses glorified. 

Yet round our sea-girt shore they rise in crowds : 

What was the great Parnassus' self to Thee, 

Mount Skiddaw ? In his natural sovereignty 

Our British Hill is nobler far ; he shrouds 

His double front among Atlantic clouds, 

And pours forth streams more sweet than Castaly. 

TO LADY BEAUMONT FROM DOROTHY 
WORDSWORTH * 

Grasmere, July 9th, 1806, Monday. 

My dear Friend, — ... In the first place, then, we 

seem to have no other spot to turn to, for there is not a 

house in this neighbourhood; and our continuing here 

during another winter would be attended with so many 

1 In reply to a letter placing the Coleorton farm-house at the disposal 
of the Wordsworths. Coleorton Hall was in process of rebuilding, and the 
Beaumonts were at their town house in London or elsewhere, for the time 
being. Early in the Fall of 1806, the Wordsworths settled in the farm- 
house and remained there nearly a year. 

[ 208 ] 



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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

serious inconveniences,, especially to my brother, who has no 
quiet corner in which to pursue his studies, no room but 
that where we all sit . . . that we feel that nothing short 
of absolute impossibility should prevent us from moving. 
Ever since my brother's return from London, we have 
thought about our removal to Coleorton as the only scheme 
in our power; but I abstained from speaking of it to you, 
thinking that at our meeting all things might be better 
explained. The solitude would be no evil to us with such 
a treasure of books, and even the dirty roads a trifling one, 
the house being so large that it would not be irksome or 
unhealthful to be confined there in rainy weather. There 
is but one circumstance which casts a damp upon our 
prospects . . . the being in your house and you not there ; 
so near you, as it were, and not enjoying your society. 
On this account, ... if any house should become vacant 
in this neighbourhood before the beginning of winter, of 
course it would be desirable to take it, and defer our jour- 
ney till the end of next summer, when you will be there 
also — for I hope there will be no further delay in the 
finishing of your building. . . . 



TO LADY BEAUMONT EEOM DOEOTHY 
WOEDSWOETH ■ 

[1806.] 
• ••••■ 

I have put off writing to you for many days, hoping 
always that the next post would bring us a letter from 
Coleridge himself, from which some comfort might be 
14 [ 209 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

gathered, and a more accurate estimate formed of the state 
of his mind. But no letter has arrived. I have, however, 
the satisfaction of telling you that he is to be at home 
on the 29th of this month. He has written to acquaint 
Mrs Coleridge with this, and has told her that lie has 
some notion of giving a course of lectures in London in 
the winter. This is all we know ; I do not imagine he has 
mentioned the subject of the lectures to Mrs C. What- 
ever his plan may be, I confess I very much wish he may 
not put it in practice, and for many reasons : first, because 
I fear his health would suffer from late hours, and being 
led too much into company ; and, in the second place, I 
would fain see him address the whole powers of his soul 
to some great work in prose or verse, of which the effect 
would be permanent, and not personal and transitory. I 
do not mean to say that much permanent good may not be 
produced by communicating knowledge by means of lec- 
tures, but a man is perpetually tempted to lower himself 
to his hearers, to bring them into sympathy with him, and 
no one would be more likely to yield to such temptation 
than Coleridge; therefore at every period of his life the 
objection would have applied to his devoting himself to 
this employment. But at this present time it seems almost 
necessary that he should have one grand object before him, 
which would turn his thoughts away in a steady course 
from his own unhappy lot, and so prevent petty irritations 
and distresses, and in the end produce a habit of reconcile- 
ment and submission. 

My dear friend, you will judge how much we have suf- 
fered from anxiety and distress within the few last weeks. 
[ 210 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

We have long known how unfit Coleridge and his wife 
were for each other ; but we had hoped that his ill-health, 
and the present need his children have of his care and 
fatherly instructions, and the reflections of his own mind 
during this long absence would have so wrought upon him 
that he might have returned home with comfort, ready to 
partake of the blessings of friendship, which he surely has 
in an abundant degree, and to devote himself to his studies 
and his children. I now trust he has brought himself into 
this state of mind, but as we have had no letters from him 
since that miserable one which we received a short time 
before my brother mentioned the subject to Sir George, I 
do not know what his views are. Poor soul ! he had a 
struggle of many years, striving to bring Mrs C. to a 
change of temper, and something like communion with 
him in his enjoyments. He is now, I trust, effectually 
convinced that he has no power of this sort, and he has 
had so long a time to know and feel this, that I would 
gladly hope things will not be so bad as he imagines when 
he finds himself once again with his children under his 
own roof. If he can make use of the knowledge which 
he has of the utter impossibility of producing powers and 
qualities of mind which are not in her, or of much changing 
what is unsuitable to his disposition, I do not think he 
will be unhappy j I am sure I think he ought not to be 
miserable. While he imagined he had anything to hope 
for, no wonder that his perpetual disappointments made 
him so ! But suppose him once reconciled to that one 
great want, an utter want of sympathy, I believe he may live 
in peace and quiet, Mrs C. has many excellent qualities, 
[ 211 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

as you observe, . . . and I believe she would have made 
an excellent wife to many persons. Coleridge is as little 
fitted for her as she for him, and I am truly sorry for 
her. When we meet you at Coleorton, I trust we shall 
have been with Coleridge long enough to know what com- 
fort he is likely to have. In the meantime, I will say no 
more on this distressing subject, unless some change should 
happen much for the better or the worse. I hope every- 
thing from the effect of my brother's conversation upon 
Coleridge's mind ; and bitterly do I regret that he did not 
at first go to London to meet him, as I think he might 
have roused him up, and preserved him from much of the 
misery that he has endured. . . . We think that nothing 
will prevent our accepting your kind offer ; for it is plain 
that Coleridge does not wish us to go to Keswick, as he 
has not replied to that part of William's letter in which he 
spoke of our plans for the winter. We shall, therefore, 
prepare ourselves to be ready to set off at any time that 
you shall appoint. . . . 



TO SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT 

Coleorton, Nov. 10, 1806. 

Miss Hutchinson and I were at church yesterday. We 
were pleased with the singing ; and I have often heard a far 
worse parson — I mean as to reading. His sermon was, to 
be sure, as village sermons often are, very injudicious. . . . 
I don't know that I ever heard in a country pulpit a ser- 
mon that had any special bearing on the condition of the 
[ 212 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

majority of the audience. I was sorry to see at Coleorton 
few middle-aged men, or even women j the congregation 
consisted almost entirely of old persons, particularly old 
men, and boys and girls. ... I have talked much chit- 
chat. I have chosen to do this rather than give way to my 
feelings, which were powerfully called out by your affecting 
and beautiful letter. I will say this, and this only, that I 
esteem your friendship one of the best gifts of my life. 
I and my family owe much to you and Lady Beaumont. I 
need not say that I do not mean any additions to our com- 
fort or happiness. ... I speak of soul indebted to soul. 
... In a day or two I mean to send a sheet of my in- 
tended volume to the press j it would give me pleasure to 
desire the printer to send you the sheets as they are struck 
off if you could have them free of expense. There is no 
forming a true estimate of a volume of small poems by 
reading them all together; one stands in the way of the 
other. They must either be read a few at once, or the 
book must remain some time by one, before a judgment 
can be made of the quantity of thought and feeling and 
imagery it contains, and what, and what variety of moods 
of mind, it can either impart, or is suited to. 

My sister is writing to Lady Beaumont, and will tell 
her how comfortable we are here, and everything relating 
thereto. Alas ! we have had no tidings of Coleridge — a 
certain proof that he continues to be very unhappy. Fare- 
well my dear friend. — Most faithfully and affectionately 
yours, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 

[ 213 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

TO LADY BEAUMONT FROM DOROTHY 
WORDSWORTH 

Coleorton, Friday, 15th November. 
My dear Friend, — We like the place more and more 
every day, for every day we find fresh comfort in having a 
roomy house. The sitting-room, where by the fireside we 
have seen some glorious sunsets, we far more than like — 
we already love it. These sunsets are a gift of our new 
residence, for shut up as we are among the mountains in 
our small deep valley, we have but a glimpse of the glory 
of the evening through one gap called the Dunmail Gap, 
the inverted arch which you pass through in going to Kes- 
wick. On Wednesday evening my brother and I walked 
backwards and forwards under the trees near the hall just 
after the sun was gone down, and we felt as if we were 
admitted to a new delight. Erom the horizon's edge to a 
great height the sky was covered with rosy clouds, and I 
cannot conceive anything more beautiful and glorious and 
solemn than this light seen through the trees, and the 
majestic trees themselves ; and afterwards, when we went 
lower down, and had the church spire and your new house 
backed by the west, they had a very fine effect. We con- 
tinued to walk till the sky was gloomy all over, and two 
lights (we supposed from coal-pits) on the hill opposite to 
the hall, where the grove stands whither you want to 
decoy the rooks, were left to shine with full effect, and 
they looked very wild. . . . Mr Craig has planted honey- 
suckles beside the pillars at the door. . . . We have 
requested him to plant some of the clematis or travellers' 
[ 214 ] 




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THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

joy, a plant which is very beautiful, especially by moon- 
light in winter, grows rapidly, and makes a delicious 
bower. What above all things I delight in is the piece 
of ground you have chosen for your winter garden; the 
hillocks and slopes, and the hollow shape of the whole, will 
make it a perfect wilderness when the trees get up. . . . 
My brother works very hard at his poems, preparing them 
for the press. Miss Hutchinson is the transcriber. She 
also orders dinner, and attends to the kitchen ; so that the 
labour being so divided we have all plenty of leisure. . . . 
I do not understand anything by that line of Michael 
Angelo but this, that he, seeing in the expression and light 
of her eye so much of the divine nature, — that is, receiving 
from thence such an assurance of the divine nature being 
in her — he felt therefrom a more confirmed belief or sen- 
timent or sensation of the divinity of his own, and was 
thereby purified. . . . 

I have kept back from speaking of Coleridge, for what 
can I say? We have had no letter, though we have 
written again. You shall hear of it when he writes to us. 

TO LADY BEAUMONT FROM DOROTHY 
WORDSWORTH 

November 17th, 1806. 
... I do not know what to say to you about poor 
Coleridge. We have had four letters from him, and in all 
he speaks with the same steadiness of his resolution to 
separate from Mrs C, and she has fully agreed to it, and 
consented that he should take Hartley and Derwent, and 
[ 215 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

superintend their education, she being allowed to have 
them at the holidays. I say she has agreed to the separa- 
tion, but in a letter which we have received to-night he 
tells us that she breaks out into outrageous passions, and 
urges continually that one argument (in fact the only one 
which has the least effect upon her mind), that this person, 
and that person, and everybody will talk. ... He says : 
" If I go away without them I am a bird who has struggled 
himself from off a bird-lime twig, and then finds a string 
round his leg pulling him back." My brother has written 
to advise him to bring the boys to us. ... I hope my 
brother's letter will make him determined to come with 
them here, and that I shall have to tell you that they are 
here before the end of this week. 

William has written two other poems, which you will 
see when they are printed. He composes frequently in the 
grove, and Mr Gray is going to put him up a bench under 
the hollies. We have not yet received a sheet from the 
printer. . . . William and I went to Grace Dieu 1 last 
week. We were enchanted with the little valley, and its 
rocks, and the rocks of Charnwood upon the hill, on which 
we rested for a long time. Adieu, my dear friend. . . . 
Yours ever, 

Dorothy Wordsworth. 

1 An old nunnery in Charnwood Forest. 



[ 216 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

TO LADY BEAUMONT FEOM DOEOTHY 
WOEDSWOETH 

December 22, 1806. 
My dear Friend, — We are in expectation every 
moment of poor Coleridge and his son Hartley. They 
were to leave Kendal on Wednesday, and if they had come 
as quickly as my brother and Miss H., they would have 
been here last night. C. says that Mrs Coleridge intends 
removing southward in the spring, and is to meet him in 
London with Derwent, who till that time is to stay with 
her. . . . He writes calmly and in better spirits. Mrs C. 
had been outrageous ; but for the last two or three days 
she had become more quiet, and appeared to be tolerably 
reconciled to his arrangements. I had a letter from her 
last week — a strange letter ! She wrote just as if all 
things were going on as usual, and we knew nothing of the 
intentions of Coleridge. She gives but a very gloomy ac- 
count of Coleridge's health, but this in her old way, with- 
out the least feeling or sense of his sufferings. I do think, 
indeed, that the state of his health will absolutely prevent 
him from lecturing. It is a sad pity that he did not for- 
mally decline accepting the proposal, as I believe his heart 
was never in it, and nothing but the dreamy and miser- 
able state of his mind (which prevented him from doing 
anything) kept him from saying that he would not 
lecture. . . . 



[ 217 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

TO LADY BEAUMONT FROM DOEOTHY 
WOEDSWOETH 

Coleorton, December 23, 1806. 

Coleridge and his son Hartley arrived on Sunday after- 
noon. My dear Lady Beaumont, the pleasure of welcom- 
ing him to your house mingled with our joy, and I think I 
never was more happy in my life than when we had bad 
him an hour by the fireside : for his looks were much more 
like his own old self, and though we only talked of common 
things, and of our friends, we perceived that he was con- 
tented in his mind, and had settled things at home to his 
satisfaction. He has been tolerably well and cheerful ever 
since, and has begun with his books. Hartley, poor boy ! 
is very happy, and looks uncommonly well. ... I long 
to know your opinion and Sir George's of my brother's 
plan of the winter garden. 1 Coleridge (as we females are 
also) is much delighted with it, only he doubts about the 
fountain, and he thinks it is possible that an intermingling 
of birch trees somewhere, on account of the richness of 
the colour of the naked twigs in winter, might be an ad- 
vantage; I may add also from myself, that we have often 
stood for half an hour together at Grasmere, on a still 

1 By invitation of Lady Beaumont, Wordsworth had undertaken to 
construct a winter garden out of an old quarry not far from the manor. 
The " plan " here alluded to was carried out, and is now, after the lapse of 
one hundred years, one of the most heautiful winter gardens in the world. 
The estate of Coleorton is near Ashby-de-la-Zouch in Leicestershire, and is 
an interesting spot to Wordsworth lovers, for its memorials of the poet's 
residence there. 

[ 218 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

morning, to look at the raindrops or hoar-frost glittering 
in sunshine upon the birch twigs ; the purple colour and 
the sparkling drops produce a most enchanting effect. . . . 
God bless you, my kind good friend. We shall drink a 
health to you on Christmas Day. You may remember that 
it is my birthday ; but in my inner heart it is never a day 
of jollity. — Believe me, ever yours, 

D. Wordsworth. 

TO LADY BEAUMONT ■ 

Coleorton, May 21, 1807. 

It is impossible that any expectations can be lower than 
mine concerning the immediate effect of this little work * 
upon what is called " the public." I do not here take into 
consideration the envy and malevolence, and all the bad 
passions which always stand in the way of a work of any 
merit from a living poet; but merely think of the pure 
absolute honest ignorance, in which all worldlings of every 
rank and situation must be enveloped, with respect to the 
thoughts, feelings, and images, on which the life of my 
poems depends. The things which I have taken, whether 
from within or without, what they have to do with routs, 
dinners, morning calls, hurry from door to door, from 
street to street, on foot or in carriage ; with Mr Pitt or 
Mr Fox, Mr Paul or Sir Francis Burdett, the Westmin- 
ster election or the borough of Honiton ? In a word — 
for I cannot stop to make my way through the hurry of 

1 A collection of his own poems in two volumes just published by the 
Longmans. 

[ 219 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

images that present themselves to me, — what have they 
to do with endless talking abont things nobody cares any- 
thing for, except as far as their own vanity is concerned, 
and this with persons they care nothing for but as their 
vanity or selfishness is concerned ? what have they to do — 
to say all at once — with a life without love ? In such a 
life there can be no thought; for we have no thought 
(save thoughts of pain) but as far as we have love and 
admiration. 

It is an awful truth that there neither is, nor can be, 
any genuine enjoyment of poetry among nineteen out of 
twenty of those persons who live, or wish to live, in the 
broad light of the world — among those who either are, or 
are striving to make themselves, people of consideration in 
society. This is a truth, and an awful one, because to be 
incapable of a feeling of poetry, in my sense of the word, 
is to be without love of human nature, and reverence 
for God. 

Upon this I shall insist elsewhere ; at present let me 
confine myself to my object, which is to make you, my 
dear friend, as easy-hearted as myself with respect to these 
poems. Trouble not yourself about their present reception; 
of what moment is that compared with what I trust is their 
destiny ? to console the afflicted ; to add sunshine to day- 
light, by making the happy happier; to teach the young, 
and the gracious of every age, to see, to think, and feel, 
and therefore to become more actively and securely virtu- 
ous — this is their office, which I trust they will faithfully 
perform, long after we (that is, all that is mortal of us) 
are mouldered in our graves. 

[ 220 ] 



5 ,3- 



*3 









* §< 5^ 



21 : a 2 



II 







s 

m 



a 

O 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

I am well aware how far it would seem to many that I 
overrate my own exertions, when I speak in this way, in 
direct connection with the volume I have just made public. 

My letter (as this second sheet which I am obliged to 
take admonishes me) is growing to an enormous length ; 
and yet, saying that I have expressed my calm confidence 
that these poems will live, I have said nothing which has a 
particular application to the object of it, which was to 
remove all disquiet from your mind on account of the con- 
demnation they may at present incur from that portion of 
my contemporaries who are called the public. I am sure, 
my dear Lady Beaumont, if you attach any importance to it, 
it can only be from an apprehension that it may affect me, 
upon which I have already set you at ease ; or from a fear 
that this present blame is ominous of their future or final 
destiny. If this be the case, your tenderness for me 
betrays you. Be assured that the decision of these persons 
has nothing to do with the question ; they are altogether 
incompetent judges. These people, in the senseless hurry 
of their idle lives, do not read books, they merely snatch a 
glance at them, that they may talk about them. And even 
if this were not so, never forget what, I believe, was 
observed to you by Coleridge, that every great and original 
writer, in proportion as he is great or original, must him- 
self create the taste by which he is to be relished ; he must 
teach the art by which he is to be seen ; this, in a certain 
degree, even to all persons, however wise and pure may be 
their lives, and however unvitiated their taste. But for 
those who dip into books in order to give an opinion of 
[ 221 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

them, or talk about them to take up an opinion — for 
this multitude of unhappy, and misguided and misguid- 
ing bangs ■ — an entire regeneration must be produced ; 
and if this be possible, it must be a work of time. To 
conclude, my ears are stone-dead to this idle buzz, and my 
flesh as insensible as iron to these petty stings ; and, after 
all that I have said, I am sure yours will be the same. I 
doubt not that you will share with me an invincible confi- 
dence that my writings (and among them these little 
poems) will cooperate with the benign tendencies in 
human nature and society, wherever found ; and that they 
will, in their degree, be efficacious in making men wiser, 
better, and happier. Farewell. I will not apologise for this 
letter, though its length demands an apology. — Believe 
me, eagerly wishing for the happy day when I shall see 
you and Sir George here, most affectionately yours, 

W. WORDSWOKTH. 



TO SIR GEOEGE BEAUMONT 

[1807.] 
My dear Sir George, — I am quite delighted to 
hear of your picture for Peter Bell ; I was much pleased 
with the sketch, and I have no doubt that the picture will 
surpass it as far as a picture ought to do. I long much to 
see it. I should approve of any engraver approved by you. 
But remember that no poem of mine will ever be popular; 
and I am afraid that the sale of " Peter " would not carry 
the expense of the engraving, and that the poem, in the 
[ 222 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 181S 

estimation of the public, would be a weight upon the print. 
I say not this in modest disparagement of the poem, but in 
sorrow for the sickly taste of the public in verse. The 
people would love the poem of Peter Bell y but the public 
(a very different being) will never love it. 

The fact is, the English public are at this moment in 
the same state of mind with respect to my poems, if small 
things may be compared with great, as the French are in 
respect to Shakespeare, and not the French alone, but 
almost the whole Continent. In short, in your friend's 
letter, I am condemned for the very thing for whicb I 
ought to have been praised, viz., — that I have not written 
down to the level of superficial observers and unthinking 
minds. Every great poet is a teacher : I wish either to be 
considered as a teacher, or as nothing. 



TO MRS. MARSHALL FROM DOROTHY 
WORDSWORTH 

Allan Bank, December 4, 1808. 

We have grievous troubles to struggle with. A 
smoky house, wet cellars, and workmen by the half dozen 
making attempts (hitherto unsuccessful) to remedy these 
evils. We are making one effort more ; and, if that end as 
heretofore, we shall be reduced to the miserable necessity 
of quitting Grasmere ; for this house is at present literally 
not habitable, and there is no other in the Yale. You can 
have no idea of the inconvenience we have suffered. There 
[ 223 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

was one stormy day in which we could have no fire but in 
my brother's study, and that chimney smoked so much 
that we were obliged to go to bed. We cooked in the 
study. . . . Partly on account of smoke and windy weather, 
and partly because of the workmen, we have been for more 
than a week together at different times without a kitchen 
fire. The servants, you may be sure, have been miserable ; 
and we have had far too much labour, and far too little 
quiet. ... At the time of the great storm, Mrs Coleridge 
and her little girl were here, and Mr Coleridge is with us 
constantly ; so you will make out that we were a pretty 
large family to provide for in such a manner. Mr Cole- 
ridge and his wife are separated; and I hope they will 
both be the happier for it. They are upon friendly terms, 
and occasionally see each other. In fact Mrs Coleridge 
was more than a week at Grasmere under the same roof 
with him. Coleridge intends to spend the winter with us. 
On this side of the paper you will find the Prospectus of 
a work which he is going to undertake ; and I have little 
doubt but that it will be well executed if his health does 
not fail him; but on that score (though he is well at 
present) I have many fears. 

My brother is deeply engaged writing a pamphlet upon 
the Convention of Cintra, an event which has interested 
him more than words can express. His first and his last 
thoughts are of Spain and Portugal. 



[ 224 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

TO THOMAS POOLE 

Grasmere, near Kendal, March 30 [1809]. 
... I should be most happy to see Alfoxden, Stowey, 
and the Quantock Hills and Coombs once more before I 
close my eyes ; but Poetry, you know well, and Patriotism 
are not mines very affluent in gold ore. At least I do not 
find them so. Riches, it has often been said, have wings. 
Of that I seldom think; but sometimes I do think and 
feel that they give wings, and that the gift has not found 
its way to me ; else assuredly you would have seen me 
under your roof before this time. I mention this partly as 
matter of regret and partly as good-natured reproach to 
you, whose shoulders are well fledged and furnished, for 
having never thought it worth while to fly so far as these 
mountains. But I am scribbling so wretchedly that you 
will be unable to read ; therefore, to save you any further 
vexation, I conclude. — Your affectionate friend, 

William Wordsworth. 

If you were a married man I should tell you that I 
have an excellent wife, and four fine children ; but you are 
above these luxuries, as a friend of mine once called them 
in my hearing ; saying that he could not afford to give in 
to such things, and the rogue meanwhile had pictures and 
prints in his house to the amount of ten thousand pounds. 
My sister is well, and begs to be most kindly remembered 
to you. Do not forget to mention my name to Ward, as 
one who often has the image of what he was eleven years 
ago before his eyes. God bless you ! 
15 [ 225 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

* 
TO LOBD LONSDALE 

Grasmere, Feb. 6, 1812. 
... I need scarcely say that literature has been the 
pursuit of my life ; a life-pursuit, chosen (as I believe are 
those of most men distinguished by any particular features 
of character) partly from passionate liking, and partly from 
calculations of the judgment ; and in some small degree 
from circumstances in which my youth was placed, that 
threw great difficulties in the way of my adopting that 
profession to which I was most inclined, and for which I 
was perhaps best qualified. 1 I long hoped, depending 
upon my moderate desires, that the profits of my literary 
labours, added to the little which I possessed, would have 
answered all the rational wants of myself and my family. 
But in this I have been disappointed, and for these causes ; 
firstly, the unexpected pressure of the times, falling most 
heavily upon men who have no regular means of increas- 
ing their income in proportion; secondly, I had errone- 
ously calculated upon the degree in which my writings were 
likely to suit the taste of the times ; and lastly, much the 
most important part of my efforts cannot meet the public 
eye for many years, from the comprehensiveness of the 
subject. I may also add (but it is scarcely worth while), 
a fourth reason, viz. : an utter inability on my part to as- 
sociate with any class or body of literary men, and thus 

1 " He always fancied that he had talents for command ; and he at one 
time thought of a military life, but then he was without connections, and he 
felt, if he were ordered to the West Indies, his talents would not save him 
from the yellow fever, and he gave that up." (Memoirs, II. 466.) 

[ 226 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

subject myself to the necessity of sacrificing my own 
judgment, and of lending, even indirectly, countenance or 
support to principles, either of taste, politics, morals or 
religion, which I disapprove ; and your lordship is not 
ignorant that, except writers engaged in mere drudgery, 
there are scarcely any authors but those associated in this 
manner, who find literature, at this day, an employment 
attended with pecuniary gain. 

The statement of these facts has been made, as your 
lordship will probably have anticipated, in order that if 
any office should be at your disposal (the duties of which 
would not call so largely upon my exertions as to prevent 
me from giving a considerable portion of time to study), 
it might be in your lordship's power to place me in a situa- 
tion where, with better hope of success, I might advance 
towards the main object of my life, I mean the completion 
of my literary undertakings ; and thereby contribute to 
the innocent gratification, and perhaps the solid benefit of 
many of my countrymen. 1 

I have been emboldened to make this statement from a 
remembrance that my family has for several generations 
been honoured by the regard of that of your lordship, and 
that, in particular, my father and grandfather did, con- 
scientiously I believe, discharge such trusts as were reposed 
in them from that connection. 



1 As a result of this letter, Lord Lonsdale procured Wordsworth the 
office of Distributor of Stamps for the county of Cumberland. He entered 
upon its duties early in the year 1813, at the time of his removal to Kydal 
Mount. 



[ m ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

SONG AT THE FEAST OE BROUGHAM 
CASTLE 1 

UPON THE RESTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD, THE SHEP- 
HERD, TO THE ESTATES AND HONOURS OF HIS ANCESTORS 

High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate, 
And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song. — 
The words of ancient time I thus translate, 
A festal strain that hath been silent long : — 

" From town to town, from tower to tower, 
The red rose is a gladsome flower. 
Her thirty years of winter past, 
The red rose is revived at last ; 
She lifts her head for endless spring, 
Eor everlasting blossoming : 
Both roses flourish, red and white : 
In love and sisterly delight 
The two that were at strife are blended, 
And all old troubles now are ended. — 
Joy ! joy to both ! but most to her 
Who is the flower of Lancaster ! 
Behold her how She smiles to-day 
On this great throng, this bright array ! 

1 Brougham Castle, about two miles from Penrith, was one of the 
numerous estates of the Clifford family. The famous " Black Clifford " 
having been slain by his enemies, his widow, in fear for the life of her 
infant son, had him brought up in a shepherd's hut, ignorant of his name 
and race until he was twenty-four years old. Being then restored to his 
estate and honors, he became known as " The Shepherd Xord." 

[ 228 ] 



SSI" 

£-•« r 



I «3 



If 




Or 

o 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Fair greeting doth she send to all 
From every corner of the hall ; 
But chiefly from above the board 
Where sits in state our rightful Lord, 
A Clifford to his own restored. 

They came with banner, spear, and shield, 
And it was proved in Bosworth-field. 
Not long the avenger was withstood — 
Earth helped him with the cry of blood : 
St. George was for us, and the might 
Of blessed Angels crowned the right. 
Loud voice the Land has uttered forth, 
We loudest in the faithful north : 
Our fields rejoice, our mountains ring, 
Our streams proclaim a welcoming ; 
Our strong-abodes and castles see 
The glory of their loyalty. 

How glad is Skipton at this hour — 
Though lonely, a deserted Tower ; 
Knight, squire, and yeoman, page and groom 
We have them at the feast of Brougham. 
How glad Pendragon — though the sleep 
Of years be on her ! — She shall reap 
A taste of this great pleasure, viewing 
As in a dream her own renewing. 
Eejoiced is Brough, right glad I deem 
Beside her little humble stream ; 
And she that keepeth watch and ward 
Her statelier Eden's course to guard ; 
[ 229 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

They both are happy at this hour, 
Though each is but a lonely Tower : — 
But here is perfect joy and pride 
For one fair House by Emont's side, 
This day, distinguished without peer 
To see her Master and to cheer — 
Him, and his Lady-mother dear ! 

Oh ! it was a time forlorn 
When the fatherless was born — 
Give her wings that she may fly, 
Or she sees her infant die ! 
Swords that are with slaughter wild 
Hunt the Mother and the Child. 
Who will take them from the light ? 
— Yonder is a man in sight — 
Yonder is a house — but where ? 
No, they must not enter there. 
To the caves, and to the brooks, 
To the clouds of heaven she looks ; 
She is speechless, but her eyes 
Pray in ghostly agonies. 
Blissful Mary, Mother mild, 
Maid and Mother undefiled, 
Save a Mother and her Child ! 

Now Who is he that bounds with joy 
On Carrock's 1 side, a Shepherd-boy ? 
No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass 
Light as the wind along the grass. 

1 Near Castle Sowerby, Cumberland. 

[ 230 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

Can this be He who hither came 
In secret, like a smothered flame ? 
O'er whom such thankful tears were shed 
For shelter, and a poor man's bread ! 
God loves the Child ; and God hath willed 
That those dear words should be fulfilled, 
The Lady's words, when forced away, 
The last she to her Babe did say : 
' My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest 
I may not be ; but rest thee, rest, 
For lowly shepherd's life is best ! ' 

Alas ! when evil men are strong 
No life is good, no pleasure long. 
The Boy must part from Mosedale's groves, 
And leave Blencathara's rugged coves, 
And quit the flowers that summer brings 
To Glenderamakin's lofty springs ; 1 
Must vanish, and his careless cheer 
Be turned to heaviness and fear. 
— Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise ! 
Hear it, good man, old in days ! 
Thou tree of covert and of rest 
For this young Bird that is distrest ; 
Among thy branches safe he lay, 
And he was free to sport and play, 
When falcons were abroad for prey. 

A recreant harp, that sings of fear 
And heaviness in Clifford's ear ! 

1 Places near Keswick. 

[ 231 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

I said, when evil men are strong, 

No life is good, no pleasure long, 

A weak and cowardly untruth ! 

Our Clifford was a happy Youth, 

And thankful through a weary time, 

That brought him up to manhood's prime. 

— Again he wanders forth at will, 

And tends a flock from hill to hill : 

His garb is humble ; ne'er was seen 

Such garb with such a noble mien; 

Among the shepherd grooms no mate 

Hath he, a Child of strength and state ! 

Yet lacks not friends for simple glee, 

Nor yet for higher sympathy. 

To his side the fallow-deer 

Came, and rested without fear; 

The eagle, lord of land and sea, 

Stooped down to pay him fealty; 

And both the undying fish 1 that swim 

Through Bowscale-tarn did wait on him ; 

The pair were servants of his eye 

In their immortality ; 

And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright, 

Moved to and fro, for his delight. 

He knew the rocks which Angels haunt 

Upon the mountains visitant ; 

1 It is imagined by the people of the country that there are two im- 
mortal Fish, inhabitants of this Tarn, which lies in the mountains not far 
from Threlkeld. — Blencathara, mentioned before, is the old and proper 
name of the mountain vulgarly called Saddleback. — (Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 232 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

He hath kenned them taking wing : 

And into caves where Faeries sing 

He hath entered ; and been told 

By Yoices how men lived of old. 

Among the heavens his eye can see 

The face of thing that is to be ; 

And, if that men report him right, 

His tongue could wmisper words of might. 

— Now another day is come, 

Fitter hope, and nobler doom ; 

He hath thrown aside his crook, 

And hath buried deep his book ; 

Armour rusting in his halls 

On the blood of Clifford calls ; — 

' Quell the Scot/ exclaims the Lance — 

Bear me to the heart of France, 

Is the longing of the shield — 

Tell thy name, thou trembling Field ; 

Field of death, where'er thou be, 

Groan thou with our victory ! 

Happy day, and mighty hour, 

When our Shepherd, in his power, 

Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword 

To his ancestors restored 

Like a re-appearing Star, 

Like a glory from afar, 

First shall head the flock of war ! M 



[ 233 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Alas ! the impassioned minstrel did not know 

How, by Heaven's grace, this Clifford's heart was framed, 

How he, long forced in humble walks to go, 

Was softened into feeling, soothed, and tamed. 

Love had he found in huts where poor men lie ; 
His daily teachers had been woods and rills, 
The silence that is in the starry sky, 
The sleep that is among the lonely hills. 

In him the savage virtue of the Eace, 
Eevenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead : 
Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place 
The wisdom which adversity had bred. 

Glad were the vales, and every cottage hearth ; 
The Shepherd-lord was honoured more and more ; 
And, ages after he was laid in earth, 
" The good Lord Clifford n was the name he bore. 



ODE 

[intimations of immortality from recollections of 
early childhood] 

I 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
The earth, and every common sight, 

To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
[ 234 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

It is not now as it hath been of yore : — 
Turn wheresoever I may, 
By night or day, 
The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 

II 

The Eainbow comes and goes, 
And lovely is the Rose, 
The Moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare, 
Waters on a starry night 
Are beautiful and fair; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. 

Ill 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 

And while the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound, 

To me alone there came a thought of grief : 

A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 

And I again am strong : 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong ; 
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, 
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay ; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity, 
[ 235 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

And with the heart of May 
Doth every Beast keep holiday ; — 
Thou Child of Joy, 
Shout round nie, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
Shepherd-boy ! 

IV 
Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; 

My heart is at your festival, 

My head hath its coronal, 
The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. 

Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 

While Earth herself is adorning, 
This sweet May-morning, 

And the Children are culling 
On every side, 

In a thousand valleys far and wide, 

Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, 
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm : — 

I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 

— But there 's a Tree, of many, one, 
A single Field which I have looked upon, 
Both of them speak of something that is gone : 

The Pansy at my feet 

Doth the same tale repeat : 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? 

[ 236 ] 



T 



ILBERTHWAITE Glen. 




/ love the Brooks which down their channels fret, 
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they." 

— Ode : Intimations of Immortality, p. 241. 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

V 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And cometh from afar : 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home : 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy, 
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the east 

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 

VI 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 
And, even with something of a Mother's mind. 

And no unworthy aim, 

The homely Nurse doth all she can 
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, 

Forget the glories he hath known, 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 
[ 237 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

VII 

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
A six years' Darling of a pigmy size ! 
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 
With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 
Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
Shaped by himself with newly learned art ; 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mourning or a funeral ; 

And this hath now his heart, 

And unto this he frames his song : 
Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife; 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside, 

And with new joy and pride 
The little Actor cons another part ; 
Filling from time to time his " humorous stage " 
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 
That Life brings with her in her equipage ; 
As if his whole vocation 
Were endless imitation. 

VIII 
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy Soul's immensity ; 
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, 
[ 238 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — 

Mighty Prophet ! Seer blest ! 

On whom those truths do rest, 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
Thou, over whom thy Immortality 
Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a slave, 
A Presence which is not to be put by ; 
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? 
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight, 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life I 



IX 

joy ! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live, 

That nature yet remembers 

What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction : not indeed 
For that which is most worthy to be blest — 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast 
[ 239 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Not for these I raise 

The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for these obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings ; 
Blank misgivings of a Creature 
Moving about in worlds not realised, 
High instincts before which our mortal Nature 
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised : 

But for those first affections, 

Those shadowy recollections, 
Which, be they what they may, 
Are yet the fountain light of all our day, 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing ; 
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal Silence : truths that wake, 

To perish never ; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 

Nor Man nor Boy, 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence in a season of calm weather 

Though inland far we be, 
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea 

Which brought us hither, 

Can in a moment travel thither, 
And see the Children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

[ 240 ] 



THE YEARS 1800 TO 1813 

X 

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song ! 

And let the young Lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound ! 
We in thought will join your throng, 

Ye that pipe and ye that play, 

Ye that through your hearts to-day 

Feel the gladness of the May ! 
What though the radiance which was once so bright 
Be now for ever taken from my sight, 

Though nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower ; 

We will grieve not, rather find 

Strength in what remains behind ; 

In the primal sympathy 

Which having been must ever be ; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 

Out of human suffering ; 

In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

XI 

And 0, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 
Forebode not any severing of our loves ! 
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 
I only have relinquished one delight 
To live beneath your more habitual sway. 
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret. 
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they ; 
16 [ 241 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

The innocent brightness of a new-born Day 

Is lovely yet; 
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober colouring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears, 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 



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THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

RYDAL MOUNT 
INTRODUCTORY 

rHE "Parsonage, situated as it is close by the 
churchyard, became intolerable to the Words- 
worths as a residence after the less of their 
children. They decided to move where the little graves 
would not be always in sight, but not out of the 
familiar neighborhood. Rydal Mount, just above the 
adjoining village of Rydal, was to be had, and im- 
proved financial conditions enabled them to take it and 
to live there for the remainder of the poet's life, — 
thirty-seven years. This place has been described 
and photographed so often that we seem to know it 
better thus than when we have clambered up the hill- 
side to catch a glimpse over the barred gate, — for the 
place is occupied and not open to the public. However, 
one may pass beyond it and still take Wordsworth's 
favorite walk along the terrace of Nab Scar and recall, 
as he hoped posterity would recall, that 

" on the mountain's side 
A POET'S hand first shaped it ; and the steps 
Of that same bard — repeated to and fro 
At morn, at noon, and under moonlight skies 
Through the vicissitudes of many a year — 
Forbade the weeds to creep o'er its grey line." 

[ 243 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

This pathway ', between Upper Rydal and Grasmere, 
was the birthplace of many poems; and the view from 
it suggests many others, such as 

" Wansfell ! this Household has a favoured lot 
Living with liberty on thee to gaze." 

or 

" Like a fair sister of the sky 
Unruffled doth the blue lake lie 
Tlie mountains looking on." 

Below lies Rydal Water, on calm days so smooth a 
mirror that hills and islands are reflected with such 
clearness that one scarce can tell which are of the land 
and which of tlie water. Behind it rises Loughrigg 
Fell with its infinite variety of surface and shadow, 
while the lofty, rugged, tree-spotted Nab Scar rises 
abruptly above the narrow walk. 

Wordsworth used to say that there were three 
callings for which he was fitted by nature; — poet, 
landscape gardener, and critic of works of art. Tlie 
gardens both at Dove Cottage and at Rydal Mount 
and the winter garden at Coleorton — after a lapse 
of one hundred years still one of the most beautiful 
gardens in the world — serve to prove his skill in 
displaying a wonderful variety of beauty within 
circumscribed limits. 

And this mountain pathway traced by the poet's feet 
along the flank of Nab Scar shows that a keen feeling 
for landscape had been the guide. It is one of the 
finest view-points in the Lake Country. 
I 244 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

During the first year of residence at Rydal Mount, 
" The Excursion " was completed and published. It 
had been in process of composition for nearly twenty 
years. More than any other of the poems, it gains by 
being read amid the scenes where it is laid. The Poet 
and the Wanderer start from the west bank of Gr as- 
mere Lake, proceed over Red Bank to Etterwater and 
thence into the two wonderful valleys of the Langdales, 
guarded by those " lusty twins " the Langdale Pikes. 
He who will may follow to-day in their footsteps, 
either on foot or by coach. The road passes close by 
that " one abode " where lived The Solitary, which 
does indeed 

" Seem by Nature hollowed out to be 
The seat and bosom of pure innocence" 

Here, too, is that " liquid pool that glitters m the sun," 
Blea Tarn; here that 

" House of stones collected on the spot, 
By rude hands built, with rocky knolls in front" 

known as Hackett Cottage; and here, where " Nature 
hems you in with friendly arms," one cannot but recall 
the impassioned utterance of The Wanderer: — 

" My lips, that may forget Thee in the crowd, 
Cannot forget Thee here, where Thou hast built 
For thy own glory in the wilderness 1 " 

Many blind and foolish things were said about " The 
Excursion," and the first edition, though only five hun- 
dred copies, was not exhausted for six years. One 
[ 245 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

contemporaneous comment, however, Hazlitfs, can 
scarcely be bettered; — " It resembles that part of the 
country in which the scene is laid. It has the same 
vastness and magnificence, with the same nakedness 
and confusion. It has the same overwhelming, oppres- 
sive power." 

In the following year " The White Doe of Rylstone " 
was published, and in four years more " Peter Bell." 
This poem had been written twenty-one years before, 
while Wordsworth was living at Alfoxden. It met 
with a larger demand than any of his preceding poems, 
the edition of five hundred copies being exhausted in 
one month. Yet, even so, Wordsworth reported to a 
friend that the entire returns from his literary labors 
did not amount to £1^0. 

Wordsworth's prose writings at this period were 
numerous and powerful. His " Two Addresses to the 
Freeholders of Westmoreland" and other pamphlets 
show how great was his interest in the pressing ques- 
tions of the day, and with what clear and statesmanly 
vision he met them. His ideas on education, on social 
science, and on politics all bore the stamp of a " pure 
religion breathing household laws." He thought that 
the Whigs in passing over to Radicalism, had aban- 
doned liberty for licence. This led Shelley and some 
others to suppose that Wordsworth had forsaken the 
cause of the people, — a sad misconception, since no 
modern poet has defended the cause of real liberty 
more ardently. 

[ 246 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

" The Waggoner " came next m order of publication, 
owing to the urgency of Charles Lamb, who had read 
it m ms. thirteen years before. When it appeared, dedi- 
cated to Charles Lamb, the latter wrote: " You can- 
not imagine how proud we are here of the dedication. 
We read it twice for once we do the poem ; I mean all 
through. . . . It is as good as it was in 1806; and 
will be as good m 1829, if our dim eyes shall be awake 
to peruse it. Methmks there is a kind of shadowing 
affinity between the subject of the narrative and the 
subject of the dedication." 

At the age of sixty his physical powers were un- 
diminished, and he is reported as " still the crack 
skater on Rydal Lake, and as to climbing of moun- 
tains, the hardiest and the youngest are yet hardly a 
match for him." But, as must inevitably happen at 
that time of life, he had the sadness of parting with 
many friends. Sir George Beaumont died in 1827, 
followed by Lady Beaumont two years later. In 1831, 
the beloved sister Dorothy sank into a state of mental 
and physical decline from which she never recovered, 
though lingering until after his own death. In the fol- 
lowing year he wrote of Coleridge: " He and my 
beloved sister are the two beings to whom my intellect 
is most indebted, and they are now proceeding, as it 
were pari passu along the path of sickness — / will 
not say towards the grave, but towards a blessed 
immortality." 

At last the hour of public appreciation arrived; 
[ 247 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

during the decade between 1835 and 181^5 Words- 
worth's poetical reputation was at its height. In 
1839 y he was called to Oxford to receive its degree 
D.C.L. His neighbors, Dr. and Mrs. Arnold of Fox 
How accompanied him, and Mrs. Arnold wrote thus of 
the ceremony: " The thundering applause from all 
quarters when the name of Wordsworth was heard 
and his venerable form was seen advancing m the 
procession, I cannot at all describe. It was really de- 
lightful to see such a tribute to such a mem. It was the 
public voice for once harmoniously jovning to pay 
homage to goodness and to talent, consistently em- 
ployed in promoting the real happiness of his fellow- 
creatures. To us who know him so intimately, and 
the true humility and simplicity of his character, it 
was very affecting and delightful.' 9 

In 184-2, the Government granted the poet a pension 
of £300 for life, and in 181^3, on the death of Southey, 
named Wordsworth for the office of Poet-Laureate. 
Although touched by this mark of honor, he at first 
declined it, feeling that he was too old to undertake 
any work at stated periods for definite occasions. But 
on being assured that nothing should be required un- 
less the spirit should move, he withdrew his objections. 

In 181^7, the Prince Consort bemg elected Chancel- 
lor of the University of Cambridge, Wordsworth (with 
the collaboration of his nephew Christopher) wrote the 
Installation Ode. It was set to music and performed 
on the great day, but such pleasure as this might have 
[ 248 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

given to the author was lost in the sorrow with which 
he lingered by the bedside of his dy'mg daughter. 
Professor Sedgwick wrote to him that the performance 
of the Ode was followed by one of the most rapturous 
expressions of feeling he had ever had the happiness 
of witnessing. 

But no public joy could avail as consolation for his 
private grief; in the shadow of it he dwelt for the re- 
maining three years of his life, when he passed away 
at the age of eighty. 

Any survey of the life of Wordsworth must have 
deep meaning for those whose eyes are fixed on the 
eternal places. Ridiculed often, overshadowed during 
long years by many of his contemporaries, he held his 
own way steadily and was an old man before he came 
into his own. But the laurels, though tardy, were 
final; henceforth none can wear England's highest 
poetic honor without feeling, as did Wordsworth's 
immediate successor, that it is indeed 

" Laurel greener from the brows 
0} him that uttered nothing base." 



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TO MRS. MARSHALL FROM DOROTHY 
WORDSWORTH 

Rydal Mount, Thursday morning, 1813. 
. . . Arrived yesterday. The weather is delightful, and 
the place a paradise; but my inner thoughts will go back 
to Grasmere. I was the last person who left the house 
yesterday evening. It seemed as quiet as the grave ; and 
the very churchyard, where our dead lie, when I gave 
a last look upon it, seemed to cheer my thoughts. Then 
I could think of life and immortality. The house only 
reminded me of desolate gloom, emptiness, and cheerless 
silence. But why do I turn to these things? The 
morning is bright, and I am more cheerful. 

Dorothy Wordsworth. 

"WANSFELL! THIS HOUSEHOLD HAS A 
FAVOURED LOT" 

Wansfell ! this Household has a favoured lot, 
Living with liberty on thee to gaze, 
To watch while Morn first crowns thee with her rays, 
Or when along thy breast serenely float 
Evening's angelic clouds. Yet ne'er a note 
Hath sounded (shame upon the Bard !) thy praise 
For all that thou, as if from heaven, hast brought 
Of glory lavished on our quiet days. 
Bountiful Son of Earth ! when we are gone 
From every object dear to mortal sight, 
[ 251 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

As soon we shall be, may these words attest 

How oft, to elevate our spirits, shone 

Thy visionary majesties of light, 

How in thy pensive glooms our hearts found rest. 



"THE MASSY WAYS, CARRIED ACROSS THESE 
HEIGHTS " 1 

The massy Ways, carried across these heights 

By Roman perseverance, are destroyed, 

Or hidden under ground, like sleeping worms. 

How venture then to hope that Time will spare 

This humble Walk ? Yet on the mountain's side 

A Poet's hand first shaped it ; and the steps 

Of that same Bard — repeated to and fro 

At morn, at noon, and under moonlight skies 

Through the vicissitudes of many a year — 

Forbade the weeds to creep o'er its grey line. 

No longer, scattering to the heedless winds 

The vocal raptures of fresh poesy, 

Shall he frequent these precincts ; locked no more 

In earnest converse with beloved Friends, 

Here will he gather stores of ready bliss, 

As from the beds and borders of a garden 

Choice flowers are gathered ! But, if Power may spring 

Out of a farewell yearning — favoured more 

1 The walk is what we call the Far-terrace, beyond the summer-house 
at Rydal Mount. The lines were written when Ave were afraid of being 
obliged to quit the place to which we were so much attached. (Words- 
worth's Note.) 

[ 252 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Than kindred wishes mated suitably 
With vain regrets — the Exile would consign 
This Walk, his loved possession, to the care 
Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse. 

"ADIEU, RYDALIAN LAURELS!" 1 

Adieu, Rydalian Laurels !. that have grown 
And spread as if ye knew that days might come 
When ye would shelter in a happy home, 
On this fair Mount, a Poet of your own, 
One who ne'er ventured for a Delphic crown 
To sue the God ; but, haunting your green shade 
All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid 
Ground-flowers, beneath your guardianship, self-sown. 
Farewell ! no Minstrels now with harp new-strung 
Eor summer wandering quit their household bowers ; 
Yet not for this wants Poesy a tongue 
To cheer the Itinerant on whom she pours 
Her spirit, while he crosses lonely moors, 
Or musing sits forsaken halls among. 

EKOM "THE EXCURSION," BOOK I 

[the poet] 

Oh ! many are the Poets that are sown 
By Nature j men endowed with highest gifts, 
The vision and the faculty divine ; 
Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse, 

1 Composed during a tour in Summer of 1833. 

[ 253 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

(Which, in the docile season of their youth, 

It was denied them to acquire, through lack 

Of culture and inspiring aid of books, 

Or haply by a temper too severe, 

Or a nice backwardness afraid of shame) 

Nor having e'er, as life advanced, been led 

By circumstance to take unto the height 

The measure of themselves, these favoured Beings, 

All but a scattered few, live out their time, 

Husbanding that which they possess within, 

And go to the grave, unthought of. Strongest minds 

Are often those of whom the noisy world 

Hears least. 

• ••••• 

Such was the Boy — but for the growing Youth 
What soul was his, when, from the naked top 
Of some bold headland, he beheld the sun 
Eise up, and bathe the world in light ! He looked — 
Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth 
And ocean's liquid mass, in gladness lay 
Beneath him : — Far and wide the clouds were touched, 
And in their silent faces could he read 
Unutterable love. Sound needed none, 
Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank 
The spectacle : sensation, soul, and form, 
All melted into him ; they swallowed up 
His animal being ; in them did he live, 
And by them did he live ; they were his life. 
In such access of mind, in such high hour 
Of visitation from the living God, 
[ 254 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired. 
No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request ; 
Rapt into still communion that transcends 
The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, 
His mind was a thanksgiving to the power 
That made him ; it was blessedness and love ! 

A Herdsman on the lonely mountain tops, 
Such intercourse was his, and in this sort 
Was his existence oftentimes possessed. 
then how beautiful, how bright, appeared 
The written promise ! Early had he learned 
To reverence the volume that displays 
The mystery, the life which cannot die ; 
But in the mountains did he feel his faith. 
All things, responsive to the writing, there 
Breathed immortality, revolving life, 
And greatness still revolving ; infinite : 
There littleness was not ; the least of things 
Seemed infinite ; and there his spirit shaped 
Her prospects, nor did he believe, — he saw. 
What wonder if his being thus became 
Sublime and comprehensive ! Low desires, 
Low thoughts had there no place ; yet was his heart 
Lowly ; for he was meek in gratitude, 
Oft as he called those ecstasies to mind, 
And whence they flowed ; and from them he acquired 
Wisdom, which works through patience ; thence he learned 
In oft-recurring hours of sober thought 
To look on Nature with a humble heart. 
[ 255 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Self- questioned where it did not understand, 
And with a superstitious eye of love. 



FEOM "THE EXCURSION," BOOK II 

["the solitary's" home among the mountains] 

"'Twas not for love" — 
Answered the sick man with a careless voice — 
" That I came hither ; neither have I found 
Among associates who have power of speech, 
Nor in such other converse as is here, 
Temptation so prevailing as to change 
That mood, or undermine my first resolve." 
Then, speaking in like careless sort, he said 
To my benign Companion, — " Pity 't is 
That fortune did not guide you to this house 
A few days earlier ; then would you have seen 
What stuff the Dwellers in a solitude, 
That seems by Nature hollowed out to be 
The seat and bosom of pure innocence, 
Are made of; an ungracious matter this ! 
Which, for truth's sake, yet in remembrance too 
Of past discussions with this zealous friend 
And advocate of humble life, I now 
Will force upon his notice ; undeterred 
By the example of his own pure course, 
And that respect and deference which a soul 
May fairly claim, by niggard age enriched 
In what she most doth value, love of God 
And his frail creature Man ; — but ye shall hear. 
[ 256 ] 



JJLEA Tarn Cottage. The home of "The Solitary" of "The Excursion. 




"A solitude 
That seems by Nature holloioed out to be 
The seat and bosom of pure innocence." 

— The Excursion, Book ii, p. 256. 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

I talk — and ye are standing in the sun 
Without refreshment ! " 

Quickly had he spoken, 
And, with light steps still quicker than his words, 
Led toward the Cottage. Homely was the spot ; 
And, to my feeling, ere we reached the door, 
Had almost a forbidding nakedness ; 
Less fair, I grant, even painfully less fair, 
Than it appeared when from the beetling rock 
"We had looked down upon it. All within, 
As left by the departed company, 
Was silent; save the solitary clock 
That on mine ear ticked with a mournful sound. — 
Following our Guide we clomb the cottage-stairs 
And reached a small apartment dark and low, 
Which was no sooner entered than our Host 
Said gaily, " This is my domain, my cell, 
My hermitage, my cabin, what you will — 
I love it better than a snail his house. 
But now ye shall be feasted with our best." 

[the langdale pikes] 

In genial mood, 
While at our pastoral banquet thus we sate 
Fronting the window of that little cell, 
I could not, ever and anon, forbear 
To glance an upward look on two huge Peaks 
That from some other vale peered into this. 
" Those lusty twins," exclaimed our host, " if here 
It were your lot to dwell, would soon become 
17 [ 257 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Your prized companions. — Many are the notes 

"Which, in his tuneful course, the wind draws forth 

From rocks, woods, caverns, heaths, and dashing shores ; 

And well those lofty brethren bear their part 

In the wild concert — chiefly when the storm 

Rides high ; then all the upper air they fill 

With roaring sound, that ceases not to flow, 

Like smoke, along the level of the blast, 

In mighty current ; theirs, too, is the song 

Of stream and headlong flood that seldom fails ; 

And, in the grim and breathless hour of noon, 

Methinks that I have heard them echo back 

The thunder's greeting. Nor have nature's laws 

Left them ungifted with a power to yield 

Music of finer tone ; a harmony, 

So do I call it, though it be the hand 

Of silence, though there be no voice ; — the clouds, 

The mist, the shadows, light of golden suns, 

Motions of moonlight, all come thither — touch, 

And have an answer — thither come, and shape 

A language not unwelcome to sick hearts 

And idle spirits : — there the sun himself, 

At the calm close of summer's longest day, 

Rests his substantial orb ; between those heights 

And on the top of either pinnacle, 

More keenly than elsewhere in night's blue vault, 

Sparkle the stars, as of their station proud. 

Thoughts are not busier in the mind of man 

Than the mute agents stirring there : — alone 

Here do I sit and watch." 

[ 258 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

[mist opening in the hills 1 ] 

A step, 
A single step, that freed me from the skirts 
Of the blind vapour, opened to my view 
Glory beyond all glory ever seen 
By waking sense or by the dreaming soul ! 
The appearance, instantaneously disclosed, 
Was of a mighty city — boldly say 
A wilderness of building, sinking far 
And self- withdrawn into a boundless depth, 
Far sinking into splendour — without end ! 
Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold, 
With alabaster domes, and silver spires, 
And blazing terrace upon terrace, high 
Uplifted ; here, serene pavilions bright, 
In avenues disposed; there, towers begirt 
With battlements that on their restless fronts 
Bore stars — illumination of all gems ! 
By earthly nature had the effect been wrought 
Upon the dark materials of the storm 
Now pacified ; on them, and on the coves 
And mountain-steeps and summits, whereunto 
The vapours had receded, taking there 
Their station under a cerulean sky. 
Oh, 't was an unimaginable sight ! 

1 This glorious appearance was described partly from what my friend 
Mr Luff witnessed, and partly from what Mrs Wordsworth and I had 
seen in company with Sir George and Lady Beaumont above Hartshope 
Hall on our way from Paterdale to Ambleside. (Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 259 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks and emerald turf, 

Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sapphire sky, 

Confused, commingled, mutually inflamed, 

Molten together, and composing thus, 

Each lost in each, that marvellous array 

Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge 

Fantastic pomp of structure without name, 

In fleecy folds voluminous, enwrapped. 

Right in the midst, where interspace appeared 

Of open court, an object like a throne 

Under a shining canopy of state 

Stood fixed ; and fixed resemblances were seen 

To implements of ordinary use, 

But vast in size, in substance glorified ; 

Such as by Hebrew Prophets were beheld 

In vision — forms uncouth of mightiest power 

For admiration and mysterious awe. 

This little Yale, a dwelling-place of Man, 

Lay low beneath my feet ; 't was visible — 

I saw not, but I felt that it was there. 

That which I saw was the revealed abode 

Of Spirits in beatitude. 

FROM "THE EXCURSION," BOOK III 

[the vale of little langdale] 

A humming bee — a little tinkling rill — 
A pair of falcons wheeling on the wing, 
In clamorous agitation, round the crest 
Of a tall rock, their airy citadel — 
[ 260 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

By each and all of these the pensive ear 
Was greeted, in the silence that ensued, 
When through the cottage-threshold we had passed, 
And, deep within that lonesome valley, stood 
Once more beneath the concave of a blue 
And cloudless sky. — Anon exclaimed our Host — 
Triumphantly dispersing with the taunt 
The shade of discontent which on his brow 
Had gathered, — " Ye have left my cell, — but see 
How Nature hems you in with friendly arms ! 
And by her help ye are my prisoners still. 
But which way shall I lead you? — how contrive, 
In spot so parsimoniously endowed, 
That the brief hours, which yet remain, may reap 
Some recompense of knowledge or delight ? M 
So saying, round he looked, as if perplexed ; 
And, to remove those doubts, my grey-haired Friend 
Said — " Shall we take this pathway for our guide ? — 
Upward it winds, as if, in summer heats, 
Its line had first been fashioned by the flock 
Seeking a place of refuge at the root 
Of yon black Yew-tree, whose protruded boughs 
Darken the silver bosom of the crag, 
From which she draws her meagre sustenance. 
There in commodious shelter may we rest. 
Or let us trace this streamlet to its source ; 
Feebly it tinkles with an earthy sound, 
And a few steps may bring us to the spot 
Where, haply, crowned with flowerets and green herbs, 
The mountain infant to the sun comes forth, 
[ 261 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Like human life from darkness." — A quick turn 

Through a strait passage of encumbered ground, 

Proved that such hope was vain : — for now we stood 

Shut out from prospect of the open vale, 

And saw the water, that composed this rill, 

Descending, disembodied, and diffused 

O'er the smooth surface of an ample crag, 

Lofty, and steep, and naked as a tower. 

All further progress here was barred : — And who, 

Thought I, if master of a vacant hour, 

Here would not linger, willingly detained ? 

Whether to such wild objects he were led 

When copious rains have magnified the stream 

Into a loud and white-robed waterfall, 

Or introduced at this more quiet time. 

Upon a semicirque of turf-clad ground, 
The hidden nook discovered to our view 
A mass of rock, resembling, as it lay 
Eight at the foot of that moist precipice, 
A stranded ship, with keel upturned, that rests 
Fearless of winds and waves. Three several stones 
Stood near, of smaller size, and not unlike 
To monumental pillars : and, from these 
Some little space disjoined a pair were seen, 
That with united shoulders bore aloft 
A fragment, like an altar, flat and smooth : 
Barren the tablet, yet thereon appeared 
A tall and shining holly, that had found 
A hospitable chink, and stood upright, 
[ 262 ] 






^ ^ a 



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THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

As if inserted by some human hand 
In mockery, to wither in the sun, 
Or lay its beauty flat before a breeze, 
The first that entered. 1 But no breeze did now 
Find entrance ; — high or low appeared no trace 
Of motion, save the water that descended, 
Diffused adown that barrier of steep rock, 
And softly creeping, like a breath of air, 
Such as is sometimes seen, and hardly seen, 
To brush the still breast of a crystal lake. 

" Behold a cabinet for sages built, 
Which kings might envy ! " — Praise to this effect 
Broke from the happy old Man's reverend lip ; 
Who to the Solitary turned, and said, 
" In sooth, with love's familiar privilege, 
You have decried the wealth which is your own. 
Among these rocks and stones, methinks, I see 
More than the heedless impress that belongs 
To lonely nature's casual work : they bear 
A semblance strange of power intelligent, 
And of design not wholly worn away. 
Boldest of plants that ever faced the wind, 
How gracefully that slender shrub looks forth 
From its fantastic birth-place ! And I own, 
Some shadowy intimations haunt me here, 
That in these shows a chronicle survives 
Of purposes akin to those of Man, 
But wrought with mightier arm than now prevails. 

1 A little exploration about Blea Tarn to-day will reveal all these details. 

[ 263 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

— Yoiceless the stream descends into the gulf 
With timid lapse ; — and lo ! while in this strait 
I stand — the chasm of sky above my head 

Is heaven's profoundest azure ; no domain 

For fickle, short-lived clouds to occupy, 

Or to pass through ; but rather an abyss 

In which the everlasting stars abide ; 

And whose soft gloom, and boundless depth, might tempt 

The curious eye to look for them by day. 

— Hail Contemplation ! from the stately towers, 
Beared by the industrious hand of human art 
To lift thee high above the misty air 

And turbulence of murmuring cities vast : 

From academic groves, that have for thee 

Been planted, hither come and find a lodge 

To which thou mayst resort for holier peace, — 

From whose calm centre thou, through height or depth, 

Mayst penetrate, wherever truth shall lead ; 

Measuriug through all degrees, until the scale 

Of time and conscious nature disappear, 

Lost in unsearchable eternity ! " 

FEOM "THE EXCURSION," BOOK IV 

[man's relation to god] 

. . . With voice 
That did not falter though the heart was moved, 
The Wanderer said : — 

" One adequate support 
For the calamities of mortal life 
[ 264 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Exists — one only ; an assured belief 

That the procession of our fate, however 

Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being 

Of infinite benevolence and power ; 

Whose everlasting purposes embrace 

All accidents, converting them to good. 

— The darts of anguish ^# not where the seat 

Of suffering hath been thoroughly fortified 

By acquiescence in the Will supreme 

For time and for eternity ; by faith, 

Faith absolute in God, including hope, 

And the defence that lies in boundless love 

Of his perfections ; with habitual dread 

Of aught unworthily conceived, endured 

Impatiently, ill-done, or left undone, 

To the dishonour of his holy name. 

Soul of our Souls, and safeguard of the world ! 

Sustain, thou only canst, the sick of heart ; 

Restore their languid spirits, and recall 

Their lost affections unto thee and thine ! " 

Then, as we issued from that covert nook, 
He thus continued, lifting up his eyes 
To heaven : — " How beautiful this dome of sky ; 
And the vast hills, in fluctuation fixed 
At thy command, how awful ! Shall the Soul, 
Human and rational, report of thee 
Even less than these ? — Be mute who will, who can, 
Yet I will praise thee with impassioned voice : 
My lips, that may forget thee in the crowd, 
[ 265 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Cannot forget thee here ; where thou hast built, 

For thy own glory, in the wilderness ! 

Me didst thou constitute a priest of thine, 

In such a temple as we now behold 

Reared for thy presence : therefore, am I bound 

To worship, here, and everywhere — as one 

Not doomed to ignorance, though forced to tread, 

From childhood up, the ways of poverty ; 

From unreflecting ignorance preserved, 

And from debasement rescued. — By thy grace 

The particle divine remained unquenched ; 

And, 'mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil, 

Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers, 

From paradise transplanted : wintry age 

Impends ; the frost will gather round my heart ; 

If the flowers wither, I am worse than dead ! 

— Come, labour, when the worn-out frame requires 

Perpetual sabbath ; come, disease and want ; 

And sad exclusion through decay of sense ; 

But leave me unabated trust in thee — 

And let thy favour, to the end of life, 

Inspire me with ability to seek 

Eepose and hope among eternal things — 

Father of heaven and earth ! and I am rich, 

And will possess my portion in content ! 

[evolution leads to love and adoration] 

Happy is he who lives to understand, 
Not human nature only, but explores 
All natures, — to the end that he may find 
[ 266 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

The law that governs each ; and where begins 
The union, the partition where, that makes 
Kind and degree, among all visible Beings ; 
The constitutions, powers, and faculties, 
Which they inherit, — cannot step beyond, — 
And cannot fall beneath ; that do assign 
To every class its station and its office, 
Through all the mighty commonwealth of things 
Up from the creeping plant to sovereign Man. 
Such converse, if directed by a meek, 
Sincere, and humble spirit, teaches love : 
For knowledge is delight ; and such delight 
Breeds love : yet, suited as it rather is 
To thought and to the climbing intellect, 
It teaches less to love, than to adore ; 
If that be not indeed the highest love ! 

And further ; by contemplating these Forms 
In the relations which they bear to man, 
He shall discern, how, through the various means 
Which silently they yield, are multiplied 
The spiritual presences of absent things. 
Trust me, that for the instructed, time will come 
When they shall meet no object but may teach 
Some acceptable lesson to their minds 
Of human suffering, or of human joy. 
So shall they learn, while all things speak of man, 
Their duties from all forms j and general laws, 
And local accidents, shall tend alike 
To rouse, to urge ; and, with the will, confer 
[ 267 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

The ability to spread the blessings wide 
Of true philanthropy. The light of love 
Not failing, perseverance from their steps 
Departing not, for them shall be confirmed 
The glorious habit by which sense is made 
Subservient still to moral purposes, 
Auxiliar to divine. That change shall clothe 
The naked spirit, ceasing to deplore 
The burthen of existence. Science then 
Shall be a precious visitant j and then, 
And only then, be worthy of her name : 
Eor then her heart shall kindle ; her dull eye, 
Dull and inanimate, no more shall hang 
Chained to its object in brute slavery ; 
But taught with patient interest to watch 
The processes of things, and serve the cause 
Of order and distinctness, not for this 
Shall it forget that its most noble use, 
Its most illustrious province, must be found 
In furnishing clear guidance, a support 
Not treacherous, to the mind's excursive power. 
" — So build we up the Being that we are ; 
Thus deeply drinking-in the soul of things 
We shall be wise perforce ; and, while inspired 
By choice, and conscious that the Will is free, 
Shall move unswerving, even as if impelled 
By strict necessity, along the path 
Of order and of good. Whatever we see, 
Or feel, shall tend to quicken and refine ; 
Shall fix, in calmer seats of moral strength, 
[ 268 ] 



£ s - 










05 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Earthly desires ; and raise, to loftier heights 
Of divine love, our intellectual soul. 

FROM "THE EXCURSION/' BOOK V 

[the vale of grasmere] 

— So we descend : and winding round a rock 
Attain a point that showed the valley — stretched 
In length before us ; and, not distant far, 
Upon a rising ground a grey church-tower, 
Whose battlements were screened by tufted trees. 
And towards a crystal Mere, that lay beyond 
Among steep hills and woods embosomed, flowed 
A copious stream with boldly winding course ; 
Here traceable, there hidden — there again 
To sight restored, and glittering in the sun. 
On the stream's bank, and everywhere, appeared 
Fair dwellings, single, or in social knots ; 
Some scattered o'er the level, others perched 
On the hill sides, a cheerful quiet scene, 
Now in its morning purity arrayed. 

Oft pausing, we pursued our way ; 
Nor reached the village-churchyard till the sun 
Travelling at steadier pace than ours, had risen 
Above the summits of the highest hills, 
And round our path darted oppressive beams. 

As chanced, the portals of the sacred Pile 
Stood open ; and we entered. On my frame, 
At such transition from the fervid air, 
[ 269 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

A grateful coolness fell, that seemed to strike 

The heart, in concert with that temperate awe 

And natural reverence which the place inspired. 

Not raised in nice proportions was the pile, 

But large and massy j for duration built ; 

With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld 

By naked rafters intricately crossed, 

Like leafless underboughs, in some thick wood, 

All withered by the depth of shade above. 

Admonitory texts inscribed the walls, 

Each, in its ornamental scroll, enclosed ; 

Each also crowned with winged heads — a pair 

Of rudely painted Cherubim. The floor 

Of nave and aisle, in unpretending guise, 

Was occupied by oaken benches ranged 

In seemly rows ; the chancel only showed 

Some vain distinctions, marks of earthly state 

By immemorial privilege allowed ; 

Though with the Encincture's special sanctity 

But ill according. An heraldic shield, 

Varying its tincture with the changeful light, 

Imbued the altar- window ; fixed aloft 

A faded hatchment hung, and one by time 

Yet undiscoloured. A capacious pew 

Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined ; 

And marble monuments were here displayed 

Thronging the walls ; and on the floor beneath 

Sepulchral stones appeared, with emblems graven 

And foot-worn epitaphs, and some with small 

And shining effigies of brass inlaid. 

[ no ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

[hackett cottage in little langdale] 

You behold, 
High on the breast of yon dark mountain, dark 
With stony barrenness, a shining speck 
Bright as a sunbeam sleeping till a shower 
Brush it away, or cloud pass over it ; 
And such it might be deemed — a sleeping sunbeam ; 
But 't is a plot of cultivated ground, 
Cut off, an island in the dusky waste ; 
And that attractive brightness is its own. 
The lofty site, by nature framed to tempt 
Amid a wilderness of rocks and stones 
The tiller's hand, a hermit might have chosen, 
For opportunity presented, thence 
Ear forth to send his wandering eye o'er land 
And ocean, and look down upon the works, 
The habitations, and the ways of men, 
Himself unseen ! But no tradition tells 
That ever hermit dipped his maple dish 
In the sweet spring that lurks 'mid yon green fields ; 
And no such visionary views belong 
To those who occupy and till the ground, 
High on that mountain where they long have dwelt 
A wedded pair in childless solitude. 
A house of stones collected on the spot, 
By rude hands built, with rocky knolls in front, 
Backed also by a ledge of rock, whose crest 
Of birch-trees waves over the chimney top ; 
A rough abode — in colour, shape, and size, 
[ 271 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Such as in unsafe times of border-war 

Might have been wished for and contrived, to elude 

The eye of roving plunderer — for their need 

Suffices ; and unshaken bears the assault 

Of their most dreaded foe, the strong Southwest 

In anger blowing from the distant sea. 

— Alone within her solitary hut ; 

There, or within the compass of her fields, 

At any moment may the Dame be found, 

True as the stock-dove to her shallow nest 

And to the grove that holds it. She beguiles 

By intermingled work of house and field 

The summer's day, and winter's; with success 

Not equal, but sufficient to maintain, 

Even at the worst, a smooth stream of content, 

Until the expected hour at which her Mate 

From the far-distant quarry's vault returns ; 

And by his converse crowns a silent day 

With evening cheerfulness. In powers of mind, 

In scale of culture, few among my flock 

Hold lower rank than this sequestered pair : 

But true humility descends from heaven ; 

And that best gift of heaven hath fallen on them j 

Abundant recompense for every want. 

Stoop from your height, ye proud, and copy these ! 

Who, in their noiseless dwelling-place, can hear 

The voice of wisdom whispering Scripture texts 

For the mind's government, or tempter's peace ; 

And recommending for their mutual need, 

Forgiveness, patience, hope, and charity ! 

[ n% ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

[life is love and immoktality] 

Life is love and immortality, 
The being one, and one the element. 
There lies the channel and original bed, 
From the beginning, hollowed out and scooped 
For Man's affections — else betrayed and lost, 
And swallowed up 'mid deserts infinite ! 
This is the genuine course, the aim, and end 
Of prescient reason ; all conclusions else 
Are abject, vain, presumptuous, and perverse. 
The faith partaking of those holy times, 
Life, I repeat, is energy of love 
Divine or human ; exercised in pain, 
In strife, and tribulation ; and ordained, 
If so approved and sanctified, to pass, 
Through shades and silent rest, to endless joy ! 



FKOM "THE EXCURSION/' BOOK VII 

[grasmere churchyard] 

" These grassy heaps lie amicably close/' 
Said I, " like surges heaving in the wind 
Along the surface of a mountain pool : 
Whence comes it, then, that yonder we behold 
Five graves, and only five, that rise together 
Unsociably sequestered, and encroaching 
On the smooth playground of the village- school ? " 
18 [ 273 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

The Vicar answered, — " No disdainful pride 
In them who rest beneath, nor any course 
Of strange or tragic accident, hath helped 
To place those hillocks in that lonely guise. 
— Once more look forth, and follow with your sight 
The length of road that from yon mountain's base 
Through bare enclosures stretches, till its line 
Is lost within a little tuft of trees ; 
Then, reappearing in a moment, quits 
The cultured fields ; and up the heathy waste, 
Mounts, as you see, in mazes serpentine, 
Led towards an easy outlet of the vale, 
That little shady spot, that sylvan tuft, 
By which the road is hidden, also hides 
A cottage from our view ; though I discern 
(Ye scarcely can) amid its sheltering trees 
The smokeless chimney-top. — 

All unembowered 
And naked stood that lowly Parsonage 
(For such in truth it is, and appertains 
To a small Chapel in the vale beyond) 
When hither came its last Inhabitant. 
Bough and forbidding were the choicest roads 
By which our northern wilds cotild then be crossed ; 
And into most of these secluded vales 
Was no access for wain, heavy or light. 
So, at his dwelling-place the Priest arrived 
With store of household goods, in panniers slung 
On sturdy horses graced with jingling bells, 
And on the back of more ignoble beast ; 
[ 274 ] 



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THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

That, with like burthen of effects most prized 
Or easiest carried, closed the motley train." 



[the simple life] 

So, each loftier aim 
Abandoning and all his showy friends, 
For a life's stay (slender it was, but sure) 
He turned to this secluded chapelry ; 
That had been offered to his doubtful choice 
By an unthought-of patron. Bleak and bare 
They found the cottage, their allotted home ; 
Naked without, and rude within ; a spot 
With which the Cure not long had been endowed 
And far remote the chapel stood, — remote, 
And, from his Dwelling, unapproachable, 
Save through a gap high in the hills, an opening 
Shadeless and shelterless, by driving showers 
Frequented, and beset with howling winds. 
Yet cause was none, whate'er regret might hang 
On his own mind, to quarrel with the choice 
Or the necessity that fixed him here ; 
Apart from old temptations, and constrained 
To punctual labour in his sacred charge. 
See him a constant preacher to the poor ! 
And visiting, though not with saintly zeal, 
Yet, when need was, with no reluctant will, 
The sick in body, or distrest in mind ; 
And, by a salutary change, compelled 
To rise from timely sleep, and meet the day 
[ 275 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

With no engagement, in his thoughts, more proud 

Or splendid than his garden could afford, 

His fields, or mountains by the heath-cock ranged 

Or the wild brooks ; from which he now returned 

Contented to partake the quiet meal 

Of his own board, where sat his gentle Mate 

And three fair Children, plentifully fed 

Though simply, from their little household farm ; 

Nor wanted timely treat of fish or fowl 

By nature yielded to his practised hand ; — 

To help the small but certain comings-in 

Of that spare benefice. Yet not the less 

Theirs was a hospitable board, and theirs 

A charitable door. 

So days and years 
Passed on ; — the inside of that rugged house 
Was trimmed and brightened by the Matron's care, 
And gradually enriched with things of price, 
Which might be lacked for use or ornament. 
What, though no soft and costly sofa there 
Insidiously stretched out its lazy length, 
And no vain mirror glittered upon the walls, 
Yet were the windows of the low abode 
By shutters weather-fended, which at once 
Bepelled the storm and deadened its loud roar. 
There snow-white curtains hung in decent folds ; 
Tough moss, and long-enduring mountain plants, 
That creep along the ground with sinuous trail, 
Were nicely braided ; and composed a work 
Like Indian mats, that with appropriate grace 

[ 276 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Lay at the threshold and the inner doors ; 
And a fair carpet, woven of homespun wool 
But tinctured daintily with florid hues, 
For seemliness and warmth, on festal days, 
Covered the smooth blue slabs of mountain-stone 
With which the parlour-floor, in simplest guise 
Of pastoral homesteads, had been long inlaid. 

[loneliness of the deaf man] 

Almost at the root 
Of that tall pine, the shadow of whose bare 
And slender stem, while here I sit at eve, 
Oft stretches towards me, like a long straight path 
Traced faintly in the greensward ; there, beneath 
A plain blue stone, a gentle Dalesman lies, 
From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn 
The precious gift of hearing. He grew up 
Erom year to year in loneliness of soul ; 
And this deep mountain-valley was to him 
Soundless, with all its streams. The bird of dawn 
Did never rouse this Cottager from sleep 
With startling summons ; not for his delight 
The vernal cuckoo shouted ; not for him 
Murmured the labouring bee. When stormy winds 
Were working the broad bosom of the lake 
Into a thousand thousand sparkling waves, 
Eocking the trees, or driving cloud on cloud 
Along the sharp edge of yon lofty crags, 
The agitated scene before his eye 
[ 277 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Was silent as a picture : evermore 

Were all things silent, wheresoe'er lie moved. 

Yet, by the solace of his own pure thoughts 

Upheld, he duteously pursued the round 

Of rural labours ; the steep mountain-side 

Ascended, with his staff and faithful dog ; 

The plough he guided, and the scythe he swayed; 

And the ripe corn before his sickle fell 

Among the jocund reapers. For himself, 

All watchful and industrious as he was, 

He wrought not : neither field nor flock he owned : 

No wish for wealth had place within his mind ; 

Nor husband's love, nor father's hope or care. 

[blindness] 

Soul-cheering Light, most bountiful of things ! 
Guide of our way, mysterious comforter ! 
Whose sacred influence, spread through earth and heaven, 
We all too thanklessly participate, 
Thy gifts were utterly withheld from him 
Whose place of rest is near yon ivied porch, 
Yet, of the wild brooks ask if he complained ; 
Ask of the channelled rivers if they held 
A safer, easier, more determined course. 
What terror doth it strike into the mind 
To think of one, blind and alone, advancing 
Straight toward some precipice's airy brink ! 
But, timely warned, lie would have stayed his steps, 
Protected, say enlightened, by his ear ; 
[ 278 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

And on the very edge of vacancy 
Not more endangered than a man whose eye 
Beholds the gulf beneath. — No floweret blooms 
Throughout the lofty range of these rough hills, 
Nor in the woods, that could from him conceal 
Its birth-place ; none whose figure did not live 
Upon his touch. The bowels of the earth 
Enriched with knowledge his industrious mind ; 
The ocean paid him tribute from the stores 
Lodged in her bosom ; and, by science led, 
His genius mounted to the plains of heaven. 
- Methinks I see him — how his eyeballs rolled, 
Beneath his ample brow, in darkness paired, — 
But each instinct with spirit ; and the frame 
Of the whole countenance alive with thought, 
Eancy, and understanding ; while the voice 
Discoursed of natural or of moral truth 
With eloquence, and such authentic power, 
That, in his presence, humbler knowledge stood 
Abashed, and tender pity overawed. 

" A noble — and, to unreflecting minds, 
A marvellous spectacle," the Wanderer said, 
" Beings like these present ! But proof abounds 
Upon the earth that faculties, which seem 
Extinguished, do not, therefore, cease to be. 
And to the mind among her powers of sense 
This transfer is permitted, — not alone 
That the bereft their recompense may win ; 
But for remoter purposes of love 
[ 279 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

And charity ; nor last nor least for this, 

That to the imagination may be given 

A type and shadow of an awful truth ; 

How, likewise, under sufferance divine, 

Darkness is banished from the realms of death, 

By man's imperishable spirit quelled. 

Unto the men who see not as we see 

Futurity was thought, in ancient times, 

To be laid open, and they prophesied. 

And know we not that from the blind have flowed 

The highest, holiest, raptures of the lyre; 

And wisdom married to immortal verse ? " 



FROM "THE EXCURSION/' BOOK IX 

[true equality of mankind] 

Alas ! what differs more than man from man ! 
And whence that difference ? whence but from himself 
For see the universal Race endowed 
With the same upright form ! — The sun is fixed, 
And the infinite magnificence of heaven 
Fixed, within reach of every human eye : 
The sleepless ocean murmurs for all ears ; 
The vernal field infuses fresh delight 
Into all hearts. Throughout the world of sense, 
Even as an object is sublime or fair, 
That object is laid open to the view 
Without reserve or veil ; and as a power 
Is salutary, or an influence sweet, 
[ 280 ] 



9 § |? 




THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Are each and all enabled to perceive 
That power,, that influence, by impartial law. 
Gifts nobler are vouchsafed alike to all ; 
Reason, and, with that reason, smiles and tears ; 
Imagination, freedom in the will : 
Conscience to guide and check ; and death to be 
Foretasted, immortality conceived 
By all, — a blissful immortality, 
To them whose holiness on earth shall make 
The Spirit capable of heaven, assured. 
Strange, then, nor less than monstrous, might be deemed 
The failure, if the Almighty, to this point 
Liberal and undistinguishing, should hide 
The excellence of moral qualities 
From common understanding ; leaving truth 
And virtue, difficult, abstruse, and dark ; 
Hard to be won, and only by a few ; 
Strange, should He deal herein with nice respects, 
And frustrate all the rest ! Believe it not : 
The primal duties shine aloft — like stars ; 
The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, 
Are scattered at the feet of Man — like flowers. 
The generous inclination, the just rule, 
Kind wishes, and good actions, and pure thoughts — 
No mystery is here ! Here is no boon 
For high — yet not for low ; for proudly graced — 
Yet not for meek of heart. The smoke ascends 
To heaven as lightly from the cottage hearth 
As from the haughtiest palace. He, whose soul 
Ponders this true equality, may walk 
[ 281 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

The fields of earth with gratitude and hope ; 
Yet, in that meditation, will he find 
Motive to sadder grief, as we have found ; 
Lamenting ancient virtues overthrown, 
And for the injustice grieving, that hath made 
So wide a difference between man and man. 



[duty of the state in education] 

O for the coming of that glorious time 
When, prizing knowledge as her noblest wealth 
And best protection, this imperial Eealm, 
While she exacts allegiance, shall admit 
An obligation, on her part, to teach 
Them who are born to serve her and obey ; 
Binding herself by statute to secure 
For all the children whom her soil maintains 
The rudiments of letters, and inform 
The mind with moral and religious truth, 
Both understood and practised, — so that none, 
However destitute, be left to droop 
By timely culture unsustained ; or run 
Into a wild disorder ; or be forced 
To drudge through a weary life without the help 
Of intellectual implements and tools ; 
A savage horde among the civilised, 
A servile band among the lordly free ! 
This sacred right the lisping babe proclaims 
To be inherent in him, by Heaven's will, 
For the protection of his innocence ; 
[ 282 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

And the rude boy — who, having overpassed 

The sinless age, by conscience is enrolled, 

Yet mutinously knits his angry brow, 

And lifts his wilful hand on mischief bent, 

Or turns the godlike faculty of speech 

To impious use — by process indirect 

Declares his due, while he makes known his need. 

— This sacred right is fruitlessly announced, 

This universal plea in vain addressed, 

To eyes and ears of parents who themselves 

Did, in the time of their necessity, 

Urge it in vain ; and, therefore, like a prayer 

That from the humblest floor ascends to heaven, 

It mounts to meet the State's parental ear ; 

Who, if indeed she own a mother's heart, 

And be not most unfeelingly devoid 

Of gratitude to Providence, will grant 

The unquestionable good. 

[on lake windermere] 

With caution we embarked ; and now the pair 
For prouder service were addrest ; but each, 
Wishful to leave an opening for my choice, 
Dropped the light oar his eager hand had seized. 
Thanks given for that becoming courtesy, 
Their place I took — and for a grateful office 
Pregnant with recollections of the time 
When, on thy bosom, spacious Windermere ! 
A Youth, I practised this delightful art ; 
[ 283 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Tossed on the waves alone, or 'mid a crew 
Of joyous comrades. Soon as the reedy marge 
Was cleared, I dipped, with arms accordant, oars 
Free from obstruction ; and the boat advanced 
Through crystal water, smoothly as a hawk, 
That, disentangled from the shady boughs 
Of some thick wood, her place of covert, cleaves 
With correspondent wings the abyss of air. 

— " Observe," the Yicar said, " yon rocky isle 

With birch-trees fringed ; my hand shall guide the helm, 

While thitherward we shape our course ; or while 

We seek that other, on the western shore ; 

Where the bare columns of those lofty firs, 

Supporting gracefully a massy dome 

Of sombre foliage, seem to imitate 

A Grecian temple rising from the Deep." 

u Turn where we may/' said I, " we cannot err 
In this delicious region.'" — Cultured slopes, 
Wild tracts of forest ground, and scattered groves, 
And mountains bare, or clothed with ancient woods, 
Surrounded us ; and, as we held our way 
Along the level of the glassy flood, 
They ceased not to surround us ; change of place 
From kindred features diversely combined, 
Producing change of beauty ever new. 

— Ah ! that such beauty, varying in the light 
Of living nature, cannot be portrayed 

By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill ; 
But is the property of him alone 
[ 284 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Who hath beheld it, noted it with care, 

And in his mind recorded it with love ! 
» • • • • 

. . . Eight across the lake 
Our pinnace moves, then, coasting creek and bay, 
Glades we behold, and into thickets peep, 
Where couch the spotted deer ; or raised our eyes 
To shaggy steeps on which the careless goat 
Browsed by the side of dashing waterfalls ; 
And thus the bark, meandering with the shore, 
Pursued her voyage, till a natural pier 
Of jutting rock invited us to land. 



[a vesper service on loughrigg fell] 

Alert to follow as the Pastor led, 
We clomb a green hill's side ; and, as we cloinb, 
The Valley, opening out her bosom, gave 
Eair prospect, intercepted less and less, 
O'er the flat meadows and indented coast 
Of the smooth lake, in compass seen : — far off, 
And yet conspicuous, stood the old Church-tower, 
In majesty presiding over fields 
And habitations seemingly preserved 
From all intrusion of the restless world 
By rocks impassable and mountains huge. 

While from the grassy mountain's open side 
We gazed, in silence hushed, with eyes intent 
[ 285 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

On the refulgent spectacle, diffused 

Through earth, sky, water, and all visible space. 

On us the venerable Pastor turned 
His beaming eye that had been raised to Heaven, 
" Once, while the Name, Jehovah, was a sound 
Within the circuit of this sea-girt isle 
Unheard, the savage nations bowed the head 
To Gods delighting in remorseless deeds ; 
Gods which themselves had fashioned, to promote 
111 purposes, and flatter foul desires. 
Then, in the bosom of yon mountain-cove, 
To those inventions of corrupted man 
Mysterious rites were solemnised ; and there — 
Amid impending rocks and gloomy woods — 
Of those terrific Idols some received 
Such dismal service, that the loudest voice 
Of the swoln cataracts (which now are heard 
Soft murmuring) was too weak to overcome, 
Though aided by wild winds, the groans and shrieks 
Of human victims, offered up to appease 
Or to propitiate. And, if living eyes 
Had visionary faculties to see 
The thing that hath been as the thing that is, 
Aghast we might behold this crystal Mere 
Bedimmed with smoke, in wreaths voluminous 
Flung from the body of devouring fires, 
To Taranis erected on the heights 
By priestly hands, for sacrifice performed 
Exultingly, in view of open day 
[ 286 ] 



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THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

And full assemblage of a barbarous host ; 

Or to Andates, female Power ! who gave 

(For so they fancied) glorious victory. 

— A few rude monuments of mountain-stone 

Survive ; all else is swept away. — How bright 

The appearances of things ! From such, how changed 

The existing worship ; and with those compared, 

The worshippers how innocent and blest ! 

So wide the difference, a willing mind 

Might almost think, at this affecting hour, 

That paradise, the lost abode of man, 

Was raised again : and to a happy few, 

In its original beauty, here restored. 

" Whence but from thee, the true and only God, 
And from the faith derived through Him who bled 
Upon the cross, this marvellous advance 
Of good from evil ; as if one extreme 
Were left, the other gained. — ye, who come 
To kneel devoutly in yon reverend Pile, 
Called to such office by the peaceful sound 
Of sabbath bells ; and ye, who sleep in earth, 
All cares forgotten, round its hallowed walls ! 
For you, in presence of this little band 
Gathered together on the green hill-side, 
Your Pastor is emboldened to prefer 
Vocal thanksgivings to the eternal King ; 
Whose love, whose counsel, whose commands, have made 
Your very poorest rich in peace of thought 
And in good works ; and him, who is endowed 
[ 287 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

With scantiest knowledge, master of all truth 

Which the salvation of his soul requires. 

Conscious of that abundant favour showered 

On you, the children of my humble care, 

And this dear land, our country, while on earth 

We sojourn, have I lifted up my soul, 

Joy giving voice to fervent gratitude. 

These barren rocks, your stern inheritance ; 

These fertile fields, that recompense your pains ; 

The shadowy vale, the sunny mountain-top ; 

Woods waving in the wind their lofty heads, 

Or hushed ; the roaring waters and the still — 

They see the offering of my lifted hands, 

They hear my lips present their sacrifice, 

They know, if I be silent, morn or even : 

For, though in whispers speaking, the full heart 

Will find a vent ; and thought is praise to him, 

Audible praise, to thee, omniscient Mind, 

From whom all gifts descend, all blessings flow ! ** 

TO B. E. HAYDON 

Rydal Mount, 7th April, 1817. 

The miscreant, 1 Hazlitt, continues, I have heard, his 
abuse of Southey, Coleridge and myself in the Examiner, 
I hope that you do not associate with the fellow ; he is not 

l From some of Wordsworth's anecdotes, recorded in Haydon's Journal, 
it appears that Hazlitt had scandalized the neighborhood at Ambleside by 
his nocturnal rambles and their consequences, to Wordsworth's great dis- 
gust. Hazlitt had praised " The Excursion " and resented the fact that 
Wordsworth took no notice of it. 

[ 288 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

a proper person to be admitted into respectable society, being 
the most perverse and malevolent creature that ill-luck has 

ever thrown in my way. Avoid him, he is a , and 

this I understand is the general opinion where he is known 
in London. 

Perhaps some of Southey's friends may think that his 
tranquillity is disturbed by the late and present attacks 
upon him — not a jot. Bating inward sorrow for the 
loss of his only son, he is cheerful as a lark and happy as 
the day: Prosperous in his literary undertakings, admired 
by his friends, in good health, and honoured by a large 
portion of the public, busily employed from morning to 
night, and capable, from his talents, of punishing those 
who act unjustly towards him, what cause has he to be 
disturbed ? I left him the other day preparing a rod for 
Mr Wm. Smith. Pray let me hear from you, and believe 
me, my dear Sir, with great regard and high respect, 
Most truly yours, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 



TO B. R. HAYDON 

Rydal Mount, 16th January, 1820. 
• «.... 

Now that you have recovered your eyes, paint, and 
leave writing to the dunces and malignants with which 
London swarms. You have taken too much trouble about 
them. How is Keats ? he is a youth of promise, too great 
for the sorry company he keeps. Do you skate? We 
19 [ 289 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

have charming diversion in that way about our lakes. I 
wish you were here to partake of it. The splendour of 
the snow-clad mountains, by moonlight in particular, is 
most charming, and the softness of the shadows surpasses 
anything you can imagine; this when the moon is at a 
particular point of elevation. I never saw anything so 
exquisite, though I believe Titian has, and so, therefore, 
perhaps may you. 

TO JAMES LOSH 

Rydal Mount, Dec. 4, 1821. 
... I should think that I had lived to little purpose 
if my notions on the subject of government had undergone 
no modification. My youth must, in that case, have been 
without enthusiasm, and my manhood endued with small 
capability of profiting by reflection. If I were addressing 
those who have dealt so liberally with the words renegade, 
apostate, etc., I should retort the charge upon them, and 
say, you have been deluded by places and persons, while I 
have stuck to principles. I abandoned Prance, and her 
rulers, when they abandoned the struggle for liberty, gave 
themselves up to tyranny, and endeavoured to enslave the 
world. I disapproved of the war against Prance at its 
commencement, thinking — which was perhaps an error — 
that it might have been avoided ; but after Buonaparte had 
violated the independence of Switzerland, my heart turned 
against him, and against the nation that could submit to 
be the instrument of such an outrage. Here it was that I 
parted, in feeling, from the Whigs, and to a certain degree 
[ 290 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

united with their adversaries, who were free from the de- 
lusion (such as I must ever regard it) of Mr Fox and his 
party that a safe and honourable peace was practicable with 
the French nation, and that an ambitious conqueror like 
Buonaparte could be softened down into a commercial 
rival. 

TO WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 

Rtdal Mount, near Ambleside, September 3d, 1821. 
... I feel myself much honoured by the present of 
your book of Latin poems, and it arrived at a time when I 
had the use of my eyes for reading, and with great pleasure 
did I employ them in the perusal of the dissertation 
annexed to your poems, which I read several times ; but 
the poems themselves I have not been able to look into, 
for I was seized with a fit of composition at that time, and 
deferred the pleasure to which your poems invited me till 
I could give them an undivided attention. . . . We live 
here somewhat singularly circumstanced — in solitude 
during nearly nine months of the year, and for the rest in 
a round of engagements. I have nobody near me who 
reads Latin, so that I can only speak of your essay from 
recollection. You will not perhaps be surprised when I 
state that I differ from you in opinion as to the propriety 
of the Latin language being employed by modems for 
works of taste and imagination. Miserable would have 
been the lot of Dante, Ariosto, and Petrarch if they had 
preferred the Latin to their mother tongue (there is, by- 
the-by, a Latin translation of Dante which you do not 
seem to know), and what could Milton, who was surely no 
[ 291 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

mean master of the Latin tongue, have made of his 
Paradise Lost, had that vehicle been employed instead of 
the language of the Thames and Severn ! Should we even 
admit that all modern dialects are comparatively change- 
able, and therefore limited in their efficacy, may not the 
sentiment which Milton so pleasingly expresses, when he 
says he is content to be read in his native isle only, be 
extended to durability ; and is it not more desirable to be 
read with affection and pride, and familiarly for five 
hundred years, by all orders of minds, and all ranks of 
people, in your native tongue, than only by a few scattered 
scholars for the space of three thousand? Had your 
idy Ilium s been in English, I should long ere this have 
been as well acquainted with them as with your Gebir, 
and with your other poems. 

I met with a hundred things in your " Dissertation M that 
fell in with my own judgments, but there are many 
opinions which I should like to talk over with you. 
Several of the separate remarks, upon "Virgil in particular, 
though perfectly just, would perhaps have been better 
placed in notes or an appendix; they are details that 
obstruct the view of the whole. Are you not also penuri- 
ous in your praise of Gray ? The fragment at the com- 
mencement of his fourth book, in which he laments the 
death of West, in cadence and sentiment, touches me in a 
manner for whieh I am grateful. The first book also of 
the same poems appears to me as well executed as anything 
of that kind is likely to be. Is there not a speech of 
Solon to which the concluding couplet of Gray's sonnet 
bears a more pointed resemblance than to any of the 
[ 292 ] 



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THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

passages you have quoted? He was told not to grieve 

for the loss of his son, as tears would be of no avail ; 

" and for that very reason," replied he, u do I weep." It 

is high time I should thank you for the honourable mention 

you have made of me. It could not but be grateful to 

me to be praised by a poet who has written verses of which 

I would rather have been the author than of any produced 

in our time. What I now write to you, I have frequently 

said to many. ... — I remain, my dear Sir, sincerely 

yours, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 



TO WALTEE SAYAGE LANDOE 

Rydal Mount, April 20th [1822] 
. . . You commend the fine conclusion of Eussel's 
sonnet upon Philoctetes, and depreciate that form of com- 
position. I do not wonder at this. I used to think it 
egregiously absurd, though the greatest poets since the re- 
vival of literature have written in it. Many years ago my 
sister happened to read to me the sonnets of Milton, which 
I could at that time repeat ; but somehow or other I was 
singularly struck with the style of harmony, and the 
gravity, and republican austerity of those compositions. 
In the course of the same afternoon I produced three son- 
nets, and soon after many others ; since that time, and 
from want of resolution to take up anything of length, I 
have filled up many a moment in writing sonnets, which, 
if I had never fallen into the practice, might easily have 
been better employed. The Excursion is proud of your 
[ 293 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

approbation. The Recluse has had a long sleep, save in 
my thoughts ; my MSS. are so ill-penned, and blurred, that 
they are useless to all but myself ; and at present I cannot 
face them. But if my stomach can be preserved in tolera- 
ble order, I hope you will hear of me again in the character 
chosen for the title of that poem. I am glad to hear from 
you. — I remain faithfully yours, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 



TO WALTEE SAVAGE LANDOB, 

Rydal Mount, January 21, 1824. 

My dear Sir, — ... You promise me a beautiful 
copy of Dante, but I ought to mention that I possess the 
Parma folio of 1795 — much the grandest book on 
my shelves — presented to me by our common friend, 
Mr. Kenyon. 

. . . You have given me minute criticism of Laodamia. 
I concur with you in what you say of the first stanza, and 
had several times attempted to alter it upon your grounds : 
I cannot, however, accede to your objection to the " second 
birth," merely because the expression has been degraded by 
conventiclers. I certainly meant nothing more by it than 
the eadem cura, and the largior cether, etc., of Virgil's 
6th iEneid. All religions owe their origin, or acceptation, 
to the wish of the human heart to supply in another state 
of existence the deficiencies of this, and to carry still nearer 
to perfection whatever we admire in our present condition ; 
so that there must be many modes of expression, arising 
out of this coincidence, or rather identity of feeling, com- 
[ 294 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

mon to all mythologies; and under this observation I 
should shelter the phrase from your censure ; but I may 
be wrong in the particular case, though certainly not in 
the general principle. This leads to a remark in your last, 
" that you are disgusted with all books that treat of reli- 
gion/' I am afraid it is a bad sign in me that I have little 
relish for any other. Even in poetry it is the imaginative 
only, viz., that which is conversant with, or turns upon in- 
finity, that powerfully affects me. Perhaps I ought to ex- 
plain : I mean to say that, unless in those passages where 
thinge are lost to each other, and limits vanish, and aspira- 
tions are raised, I read with something too much like 
indifference. But all great poets are in this view powerful 
religionists, and therefore among many literary pleasures 
lost, I have not yet to lament over that of verse as de- 
parted. . . . 

Pray be so good as to let me know what you think of 
Dante. It has become lately — owing a good deal, I be- 
lieve, to the example of Schlegel — the fashion to extol 
him above measure. I have not read him for many years ; 
his style I used to think admirable for conciseness and 
vigour, without abruptness ; but I own that his fictions 
often struck me as offensively grotesque and fantastic, and 
I felt the poem tedious from various causes. 

I have a strong desire to become acquainted with the 
Mr Hare whom you mention. To the honour of Cam- 
bridge, he is in the highest repute there, for his sound and 
extensive learning. I am happy to say that the Master of 
Trinity College, my brother, was the occasion of his being 
restored to the Muses from the Temple. To Mr Hare's 
[ 295 ] 



WITH WORDSWORtH IN ENGLAND 

brother, Augustus, I am under great obligation for having 
volunteered the tuition of my elder son, who is at New 
College, Oxford, and who, though he is not a youth of 
quick parts, promises, from his assiduity and passionate 
love of classical literature, to become an excellent scholar. 
... — Believe me, ever sincerely and affectionately yours, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 



TO SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT 

Rydal Mount, May 28, 1825. 
. . . Never, I think, have we had so beautiful a spring j 
sunshine and showers coming just as if they had been 
called for, by the spirits of Hope, Love, and Beauty. This 
spot is at present a paradise, if you will admit the term 
when I acknowledge that yesterday afternoon the moun- 
tains were whitened with a fall of snow. But this only 
served to give the landscape, with all its verdure, blossoms, 
and leafy trees, a striking Swiss air, which reminded us of 
Unterseen and Interlachen. . . . Theologians may puzzle 
their heads about dogmas as they will, the religion of 
gratitude cannot mislead us. Of that we are sure; and 
gratitude is the handmaid to hope, and hope the harbinger 
of faith. I look abroad upon Nature, I think of the best 
part of our Species, I lean upon my Eriends, and I medi- 
tate upon the Scriptures, especially the Gospel of St. John, 
and my creed rises up of itself, with the ease of an exhala- 
tion, yet a fabric of adamant. — God bless you, my ever 
dear friend. 

W. Wordsworth. 
[ 296 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

SONNETS ON THE LANGDALE PIKES 

I 

How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright 

The effluence from yon distant mountain's head, 

Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky can shed, 

Shines like another sun — on mortal sight 

Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night, 

And all her twinkling stars. Who now would tread, 

If so he might, yon mountain's glittering head — 

Terrestrial, but a surface, by the flight 

Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing, 

Unswept, unstained ? Nor shall the aerial Powers 

Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure, 

White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure, 

Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring 

Has filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers. 

II 

The fairest, brightest, hues of ether fade ; 
The sweetest notes must terminate and die : 

Eriend ! thy flute has breathed a harmony 1 
Softly resounded through this rocky glade ; 
Such strains of rapture as the Genius played 
In his still haunt on Bagdad's summit high ; 
He who stood visible to Mirza's eye, 

Never before to human sight betrayed. 

1 The musician was Rev Samuel Tillbrook of Peter-house, Cambridge, 
who remodelled the Ivy Cottage at Rydal, after he had purchased it. 
(Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 297 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Lo, in the vale, the mists of evening spread ! 
The visionary Arches are not there, 
Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seas ! 
Yet sacred is to me this Mountain's head, 
Whence I have risen, uplifted, on the breeze 
Of harmony, above all earthly care. 

THE PASS OF KIRKSTONE 

I 
Within the mind strong fancies work. 
A deep delight the bosom thrills 
Oft as I pass along the fork 
Of these fraternal hills : 
Where, save the rugged road, we find 
No appanage of human kind, 
Nor hint of man ; if stone or rock 
Seem not his handywork to mock 
By something cognizably shaped ; 
Mockery — or model roughly hewn, 
And left as if by earthquake strewn, 
Or from the Flood escaped : 
Altars for Druid service fit 
(But where no fire was ever lit, 
Unless the glow-worm to the skies 
Thence offer nightly sacrifice) ; 
Wrinkled Egyptian monument ; 
Green moss-grown tower ; or hoary tent ; 
Tents of a camp that never shall be razed — ■ 
On which four thousand years have gazed ! 
[ 298 ] 



33 



St ^ 



^ ~ 







THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

II 

Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes ! 

Ye snow-white lambs that trip 

Imprisoned 'mid the formal props 

Of restless ownership ! 

Ye trees, that may to-morrow fall 

To feed the insatiate Prodigal ! 

Lawns, houses, chattels, groves, and fields, 

All that the fertile valley shields ; 

Wages of folly — baits of crime, 

Of life's uneasy game the stake, 

Playthings that keep the eyes awake 

Of drowsy, dotard Time ; — 

care ! guilt ! — vales and plains, 

Here, 'mid his own unvexed domains, 

A Genius dwells, that can subdue 

At once all memory of You, — 

Most potent when mists veil the sky, 

Mists that distort and magnify ; 

While the coarse rushes, to the sweeping breeze, 

Sigh forth their ancient melodies ! 

Ill 

List to those shriller notes ! — that march 
Perchance was on the blast, 
When, through this Height's inverted arch, 
Eome's earliest legion passed ! 
— They saw, adventurously impelled, 
And older eyes than theirs beheld, 
[ 299 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

This block — and yon, whose church-like frame 

Gives to this savage Pass its name. 

Aspiring Eoad ! that lov'st to hide 

Thy daring in a vapoury bourn, 

Not seldom may the hour return 

When thou shalt be my guide : 

And I (as all men may find cause, 

When life is at a weary pause, 

And they have panted up the hill 

Of duty with reluctant will) 

Be thankful, even though tired and faint, 

For the rich bounties of constraint ; 

Whence oft invigorating transports flow 

That choice lacked courage to bestow ! 

IV 

My Soul was grateful for delight 
That wore a threatening brow ; 
A veil is lifted — can she slight 
The scene that opens now ? 
Though habitation none appear, 
The greenness tells, man must be there ; 
The shelter — that the perspective 
Is of the clime in which we live ; 
Where Toil pursues his daily round ; 
Where Pity sheds sweet tears — and Love, 
In woodbine bower or birchen grove, 
Inflicts his tender wound. 
— Who comes not hither ne'er shall know 
How beautiful the world below ; 
[ 300 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Nor can he guess how lightly leaps 

The brook adown the rocky steeps. 

Farewell, thou desolate Domain ! 

Hope, pointing to the cultured plain, 

Carols like a shepherd-boy ; 

And who is she ? — Can that be Joy ! 

Who, with a sunbeam for her guide, 

Smoothly skims the meadows wide ; 

While Faith, from yonder opening cloud, 

To hill and vale proclaims aloud, 

" Whatever the weak may dread, the wicked dare, 

Thy lot, Man, is good, thy portion, fair ! " 

OXFORD, May 30, 1820 

Ye sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth ! 

In whose collegiate shelter England's Flowers 

Expand, enjoying through their vernal hours 

The air of liberty, the light of truth ; 

Much have ye suffered from Time's gnawing tooth : 

Yet, ye spires of Oxford ! domes and towers ! 

Gardens and groves ! your presence overpowers 

The soberness of reason ; till, in sooth, 

Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchange, 

I slight my own beloved Cam, to range 

Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet ; 

Pace the long avenue, or glide adown 

The stream-like windings of that glorious street — 

An eager Novice robed in fluttering gown ! 

[ 301 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

FEOM SONNETS TO THE RIVER DUDDON 

H 

Child of the clouds ! remote from every taint 

Of sordid industry thy lot is cast ; 

Thine are the honours of the lofty waste l 

Not seldom, when with heat the valleys faint, 

Thy handmaid Frost with spangled tissue quaint 

Thy cradle decks ; — to chant thy birth, thou hast 

No meaner Poet than the whistling Blast, 

And Desolation is thy Patron-saint ! 

She guards thee, ruthless Power ! who would not spare 

Those mighty forests, once the bison's screen, 

"Where stalked the huge deer to his shaggy lair 

Through paths and alleys roofed with darkest green ; 

Thousands of years before the silent air 

Was pierced by whizzing shaft of hunter keen ! 

IX. THE STEPPING-STONES 

The struggling Eill insensibly is grown 
Into a Brook of loud and stately march, 
Crossed ever and anon by plank or arch ; 
And, for like use, lo ! what might seem a zone 
Chosen for ornament — stone matched with stone 
In studied symmetry, with interspace 
For the clear waters to pursue their race 
Without restraint. How swiftly have they flown, 

1 Wrynose Fell. 

[ 302 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Succeeding — still succeeding ! Here the Child 

Puts, when the high-swoln Flood runs fierce and wild, 

His budding courage to the proof; and here 

Declining Manhood learns to note the sly 

And sure encroachments of infirmity, 

Thinking how fast time runs, life's end how near ! 

XIV 

Mountain Stream ! the Shepherd and his Cot 
Are privileged Inmates of deep solitude ; 
Nor would the nicest Anchorite exclude 
A field or two of brighter green, or plot 
Of tillage-ground, that seemeth like a spot 
Of stationary sunshine : — thou hast viewed 
These only, Duddon ! with their paths renewed 
By fits and starts, yet this contents thee not. 
Thee hath some awful Spirit impelled to leave, 
Utterly to desert, the haunts of men, 
Though simple thy companions were and few ; 
And through this wilderness a passage cleave 
Attended but by thy own voice, save when 
The clouds and fowls of the air thy way pursue ! 

XV 

Fuom this deep chasm, where quivering sunbeams play 
Upon its loftiest crags, mine eyes behold 
A gloomy niche, capacious, blank, and cold ; 
A concave free from shrubs and mosses grey ; 
In semblance fresh, as if, with dire affray, 
[ 303 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Some Statue, placed amid these regions old 

For tutelary service, thence had rolled, 

Startling the flight of timid Yesterday ! 

Was it by mortals sculptured ? — weary slaves 

Of slow endeavour ! or abruptly cast 

Into rude shape by fire, with roaring blast 

Tempestuously let loose from central caves ? 

Or fashioned by the turbulence of waves, 

Then, when o'er highest hills the Deluge passed ? 

XX. THE PLAIN OF DONNERDALE 

The old inventive Poets, had they seen, 

Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains 

Thy waters, Duddon ! 'mid these flowery plains — 

The still repose, the liquid lapse serene, 

Transferred to bowers imperishably green, 

Had beautified Elysium ! But these chains 

Will soon be broken ; — a rough course remains, 

Eough as the past ; where Thou, of placid mien, 

Innocuous as the firstling of the flock, 

And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky, 

Shalt change thy temper ; and, with many a shock 

Given and received in mutual jeopardy, 

Dance, like a Bacchanal, from rock to rock, 

Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high ! 

XXI 

Whence that low voice ? — a whisper from the heart, 
That told of days long past, when here I roved 
With friends and kindred tenderly beloved. 
[ 304 ] 





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THE YEARS 1818 TO 1850 

Some who had early mandates to depart, 

Yet are allowed to steal my path athwart 

By Duddon's side ; once more do we unite, 

Once more, beneath the kind Earth's tranquil light ; 

And smothered joys into new being start. 

From her unworthy seat, the cloudy stall 

Of Time, breaks forth triumphant Memory ; 

Her glistening tresses bound, yet light and free 

As golden locks of birch, that rise and fall 

On gales that breathe too gently to recall 

Aught of the fading year's inclemency ! 

THE WISHING-GATE 1 

Hope rules a land for ever green : 

All powers that serve the bright-eyed Queen 

Are confident and gay ; 
Clouds at her bidding disappear ; 
Points she to aught ? — the bliss draws near, 

And Fancy smooths the way. 

Not such the land of Wishes — there 
Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer, 

And thoughts with things at strife ; 
Yet how forlorn, should ye depart, 
Ye superstitions of the heart, 

How poor, were human life ! 

1 In the vale of Grasmere, by the side of the old high- way leading to 
Ambleside, is a gate, which, time out of mind, has been called the "Wishing- 
gate, from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a favorable 
issue. — (Wordsworth's Note.) 

20 [ 305 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

When magic lore abjured its might, 
Ye did not forfeit one dear right, 

One tender claim abate ; 
Witness this symbol of your sway, 
Surviving near the public way, 

The rustic Wishing-gate ! 

Inquire not if the faery race 
Shed kindly influence on the place, 

Ere northward they retired ; 
If here a warrior left a spell, 
Panting for glory as he fell ; 

Or here a saint expired. 

Enough that all around is fair, 
Composed with Nature's finest care, 

And in her fondest love — 
Peace to embosom and content — 
To overawe the turbulent, 

The selfish to reprove. 

Yea ! even the Stranger from afar, 
Eeclining on this moss-grown bar, 

Unknowing, and unknown, 
The infection of the ground partakes, 
Longing for his Beloved — who makes 

All happiness her own. 

Then why should conscious Spirits fear 
The mystic stirrings that are here, 
The ancient faith disclaim ? 
[ 306 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

The local Genius ne'er befriends 
Desires whose course in folly ends, 
Whose just reward is shame. 

Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn, 
If some, by ceaseless pains outworn, 

Here crave an easier lot ; 
If some have thirsted to renew 
A broken vow, or bind a true, 

With firmer, holier knot. 

And not in vain, when thoughts are cast 
Upon the irrevocable past, 

Some Penitent sincere 
May for a worthier future sigh, 
While trickles from his downcast eye 

No unavailing tear. 

The Worldling, pining to be freed 
Prom turmoil, who would turn or speed 

The current of his fate, 
Might stop before this favoured scene, 
At Nature's call, nor blush to lean 

Upon the Wishing-gate. 

The Sage, who feels how blind, how weak 
Is man, though loth such help to seek, 

Yet, passing, here might pause, 
And thirst for insight to allay 
Misgiving, while the crimson day 

In quietness withdraws ; 
[ 307 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Or when the church-clock's knell profound 
To Time's first step across the bound 

Of midnight makes reply ; 
Time pressing on with starry crest, 
To filial sleep upon the breast 

Of dread eternity. 

THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK 1 

A Rock there is whose homely front 

The passing traveller slights ; 
Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps, 

Like stars, at various heights ; 
And one coy Primrose to that Rock 

The vernal breeze invites. 

What hideous warfare hath been waged, 

What kingdoms overthrown, 
Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft 

And marked it for my own ; 
A lasting link in Nature's chain 

From highest heaven let down ! 

The flowers, still faithful to the stems, 

Their fellowship renew; 
The stems are faithful to the root, 

That worketh out of view ; 
And to the rock the root adheres 

In every fibre true 

1 This rock still stands, — on the right hand a little way leading up the 
middle road from Rydal to Grasmere. (Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 308 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Close clings to earth the living rock, 
Though threatening still to fall ; 

The earth is constant to her sphere ; 
And God upholds them all : 

So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads 
Her annual funeral. 

• ••••• 

Here closed the meditative strain ; 

But air breathed soft that day, 
The hoary mountain-heights were cheered, 

The sunny vale looked gay ; 
And to the Primrose of the Rock 

I gave this after-lay. 

I sang — Let myriads of bright flowers, 

Like Thee, in field and grove 
Eevive unenvied ; — mightier far, 

Than tremblings that reprove 
Our vernal tendencies to hope, 

Is God's redeeming love ; 

That love which changed — for wan disease, 

For sorrow that had bent 
O'er hopeless dust, for withered age — 

Their moral element, 
And turned the thistles of a curse 

To types beneficent. 



[ 309 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Sin-blighted though we are, we too, 

The reasoning Sons of Men, 
From one oblivious winter called 

Shall rise, and breathe again; 
And in eternal summer lose 

Our threescore years and ten. 

To humbleness of heart descends 

This prescience from on high, 
The faith that elevates the just, 

Before and when they die ; 
And makes each soul a separate heaven, 

A court for Deity. 



TO 



ON HER FIRST ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT OF HELVELLYN 

Inmate of a mountain dwelling, 
Thou hast clomb aloft, and gazed 
From the watch-towers of Helvellyn ; 
Awed, delighted, and amazed ! 

Potent was the spell that bound thee, 
Not unwilling to obey ; 
Eor blue Ether's arms, flung round thee, 
Stilled the pantings of dismay. 

1 The lady was Miss Blackett, then residing with Mr Montagu Bur- 
goyne at Fox-Ghyll. We were tempted to remain too long upon the moun- 
tain ; and I, imprudently, with the hope of shortening the way, led her 
among the crags and down a steep slope which entangled us in difficulties 
that were met by her with much spirit and courage. (Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 310 ] 



fcq 2 ^ 

If r 



3 - 



^ 



-v. 




THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Lo ! the dwindled woods and meadows ; 
What a vast abyss is there ! 
Lo ! the clouds, the solemn shadows, 
And the glistenings — heavenly fair ! 

And a record of commotion 
Which a thousand ridges yield ; 
Ridge, and gulf, and distant ocean 
Gleaming like a silver shield ! 

Maiden ! now take flight ; — inherit 
Alps or Andes — they are thine ! 
With the morning's roseate Spirit, 
Sweep their length of snowy line ; 

Or survey their bright dominions 
In the gorgeous colours drest, 
Flung from off the purple pinions, 
Evening spreads throughout the west ! 

Thine are all the coral fountains 
Warbling in each sparry vault 
Of the untrodden lunar mountains ; 
Listen to their songs ! — or halt, 

To Niphates' top invited, 
Whither spiteful Satan steered ; 
Or descend where the ark alighted, 
When the green earth re-appeared ; 

[ 311 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

For the power of hills is on thee, 
As was witnessed through thine eye 
Then, when old Helvellyn won thee 
To confess their majesty ! 

AT FUBNESS ABBEY 

Herb, where, of havoc tired and rash undoing, 

Man left this Structure to become Time's prey 

A soothing spirit follows in the way 

That Nature takes, her counter-work pursuing, 

See how her Ivy clasps the sacred Euin 

Fall to prevent or beautify decay ; 

And, on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay, 

The flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing ! 

Thanks to the place, blessings upon the hour ; 

Even as I speak the rising Sun's first smile 

Gleams on the grass-crowned top of yon tall Tower 

Whose cawing occupants with joy proclaim 

Prescriptive title to the shattered pile 

Where, Cavendish, thine seems nothing but a name ! 

AIBEY-FOBCE VALLEY 1 

Not a breath of air 

Buffles the bosom of this leafy glen, 

From the brook's margin, wide around, the trees 

Are stedfast as the rocks ; the brook itself, 

1 Airey Force and Gowbarrow Fell, an area of 750 acres, were purchased 
in 1906 by the National Trast for preserving places of historic interest, and 
are now thrown open to the public. 

[ 312 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Old as the hills that feed it from afar, 

Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm 

Where all things else are still and motionless. 

And yet, even now, a little breeze, perchance 

Escaped from boisterous winds that rage without, 

Has entered, by the sturdy oaks unfelt, 

But to its gentle touch how sensitive 

Is the light ash ! that, pendent from the brow 

Of yon dim cave, in seeming silence makes 

A soft eye-music of slow- waving boughs, 

Powerful almost as vocal harmony 

To stay the wanderer's steps and soothe his thoughts. 

"FORTH FROM A JUTTING RIDGE " 

Forth from a jutting ridge, around whose base 

Winds our deep Vale, two heath-clad Rocks 1 ascend 

In fellowship, the loftiest of the pair 

Rising to no ambitious height ; yet both, 

O'er lake and stream, mountain and flowery mead, 

Unfolding prospects fair as human eyes 

Ever beheld. Up-led with mutual help, 

To one or other brow of those twin Peaks 

Were two adventurous Sisters wont to climb, 

And took no note of the hour while thence they gazed, 

The blooming heath their couch, gazed, side by side, 

In speechless admiration. I, a witness 

And frequent sharer of their calm delight 

1 To be found on the right of the coach road, not far from the " fir- 
grove," surrounded by thick shrubbery, but still heath-clad. 

[ 313 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

With thankful heart, to either Eminence 
Gave the baptismal name each Sister bore. 
Now are they parted, far as Death's cold hand 
Hath power to part the Spirits of those who love 
As they did love. Ye kindred Pinnacles — 
That, while the generations of mankind 
Follow each other to their hiding place 
In time's abyss, are privileged to endure 
Beautiful in yourselves, and richly graced 
With like command of beauty — grant your aid 
For Mary's humble, Sarah's silent claim, 1 
That their pure joy in nature may survive 
From age to age in blended memory. 

INSCRIPTION 

FOR A MONUMENT 2 IN CROSTHWAITE CHURCH, IN THE 
VALE OF KESWICK 1843-1845 

Ye vales and hills whose beauty hither drew 

The poet's steps, and fixed him here, on you 

His eyes have closed ! And ye, loved books, no more 

Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore, 

To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown, 

Adding immortal labours of his own — 

Whether he traced historic truth, with zeal 

For the State's guidance, or the Church's weal, 

Or Fancy, disciplined by studious art, 

1 Mary Wordsworth and Sarah Hutchinson. 

2 Southey's monument stands on the east end of the altar tomb in the 
Church of St. Kentigern. 

[ 314 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Informed his pen, or wisdom of the heart, 
Or judgments sanctioned in the Patriot's mind 
By reverence for the rights of all mankind. 
Wide were his aims, yet in no human breast 
Could private feelings meet for holier rest. 
His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud 
Erom Skiddaw's top ; but he to heaven was vowed 
Through his industrious life, and Christian faith 
Calmed in his soul the fear of change and death. 



TO G. HUNTLY GOBDON, ESQ. 

Rtdal Mount, July 29, 1829. 

My dear Sir, — I hope you have enjoyed yourself in 
the country as we have been doing among our shady woods, 
and green hills, and invigorated streams. The summer is 
passing on, and I have not left home, and perhaps shall 
not ; for it is far more from duty than inclination that I 
quit my dear and beautiful home; and duty pulls two 
ways. On the one side my mind stands in need of being 
fed by new objects for meditation and reflection, the more 
so because diseased eyes have cut me off so much from 
reading ; and, on the other hand, I am obliged to look at 
the expense of distant travelling, as I am not able to take 
so much out of my body by walking as heretofore. 

I have not got my MS back from the 1 whose 

managers have, between them, used me shamefully; but 
my complaint is principally of the editor, for with the pro- 

1 An annual to which Wordsworth had been induced to become a 
contributor. 

[ 315 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

prietor I had little direct connection. If you think it 
worth while, yon shall, at some future day, see such parts 
of the correspondence as I have preserved. ... I am 
properly served for having had any connection with such 
things. My only excuse is, that they offered me a very 
liberal sum, and that I have laboured hard through a long 
life, without more pecuniary emolument than a lawyer gets 
for two special retainers, or a public performer sometimes 
for two or three songs. Parewell ; pray let me hear from 
you at your early convenience, And believe me faithfully 
your Much obliged, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 



TO CHAELES AND MARY LAMB FROM 
DOEOTHY WOEDSWOETH 

Eydal Mount, 9th Jan., 1830. 

My dear Eriends, — My nephew John will set off 
to-morrow evening to Oxford, to take his Master of Arts 
degree, and thence proceed to London, where his time will 
be so short, there is no chance of being able to go to see 
you ; but there is a possibility that your brother may 
happen to be in town at the same time. . . . 

I do not ask you> Miss Lamb, to write, for I know you 
dislike the office ; but dear Charles L., you whom I have 
known almost five-and-thirty years, I trust I do not in 
vain entreat you to let me have the eagerly desired letter 
at your earliest opportunity, which letter will, we hope, 
bring us tidings respecting H. C. Eobinson. We have not 
heard anything concerning him since his departure from 
[ 316 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

England, though he promised absolutely to write on his 
arrival at Rome, and if his intentions were fulfilled, he 
must have been a resident there for many weeks. Do you 
see Talfourd ? Does he prosper in his profession ? What 
family has he? etc., etc. But I will not particularise 
persons, but include all in one general inquiry. . . . Tell 
us of all whom you know, in whom you know us also to 
be interested, but above all, be very minute in what regards 
your own dear selves, for there are no persons in the world, 
exclusive of members of our own family, of whom we 
think and talk so frequently, or with such delightful 
remembrances. Your removal to London (though to my 
thought London is scarcely London without you) shall not 
prevent my seeing you both in your own cottage, if I live 
to go there again ; but at present I have no distant plans 
leading me thither. 

Now that Mr Monkhouse 1 is gone, we females have no 
absolute home there, and should we go it will probably be 
on our own way to the Continent, or to the southern 
shores of England. Wishes I do now and then indulge of 
at least revisiting Switzerland, and again crossing the Alps, 
and even strolling on to Rome. But, there is a great 
change in my feelings respecting plans for the future. If 
we make any, I entertain them as an amusement perhaps 
for a short while, but never set my heart upon anything 
which is to be accomplished three months hence, and have 
no satisfaction whatever in schemes. When one has lived 
almost sixty years, one is satisfied with present enjoyment 

1 Mr. Thomas Monkhouse, a valued friend, whose hospitable home in 
London had always been open to his friends. 

[ 317 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

and thankful for it, without daring to count on what is to 
be done six months hence. 

My brother and sister are both in excellent health. In 
him there is no failure except the tendency to inflammation 
in his eyes, which disables him from reading much, or at 
all by candle-light ; and the use of the pen is irksome to 
him. However, he has a most competent and willing 
amanuensis in his daughter, who takes all labour from 
mother's and aged aunt's hands. His muscular powers 
are in no degree diminished. Indeed, I think he walks 
regularly more than ever, finding fresh air the best bracing 
to his weak eyes. He is still the crack skater on Rydal 
Lake, and, as to climbing of mountains, the hardiest and the 
youngest are yet hardly a match for him. In composition 
I can perceive no failure, and his imagination seems as 
vigorous as in youth ; yet he shrinks from his great work, 
and both during the last and present winter has been em- 
ployed in writing small poems. Do not suppose, my dear 
friend, that I write this boastingly. Far from it. It is in 
thankfulness for present blessings, yet always with the 
sense of the possibility that all will have a sudden check ; 
and, if not so, the certainty that in the course of man's 
life, but a few years of vigorous health and strength can 
be allotted to him. For this reason, my sister and I take 
every opportunity of pressing upon him the necessity of 
applying to his great work, and this he feels, resolves to 
do it, and again resolution fails. And now I almost fear 
habitually that it will be ever so. 

I have told you she is well — and indeed I think her 
much stronger than a few years ago — and (now that I am 
[ 318 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

for the whole of this winter set aside as a walker) she 
takes my place, and will return from an eight miles' walk 
with my brother un fatigued. Miss Hutchinson, and her 
sister Joanna, are both with us. 1 Miss H. is perfectly well, 
and Joanna very happy, though she may be always con- 
sidered an invalid. Her home is in the Isle of Man, and, 
with the first mild breezes of spring, she intends returning 
thither, with her sailor brother Henry — they two (tod- 
dling down the hill) together. She is an example for us 
all. With the better half of her property, she purchased 
Columbian bonds, at above 70, gets no interest, will not 
sell, consequently the cheapness of the little isle tempted 
her thither on a visit, and she finds the air so suitable for 
her health, and everything else so much to her mind, that 
she will, in spite of our unwillingness to part with her, 
make it her home. As to her lost property, she never 
regrets it. She has so reduced her wants that she declares 
she is now richer than she ever was in her life, and so she is. 
... I believe you never saw Joanna, and it is a pity ; for 
you would have loved her very much. She possesses all 
the good qualities of the Hutchinsons. My niece Dora is 
very active, and her father's helper at all times ; and in 
domestic concerns she takes all the trouble from her mother 
and me. . . . 

TO SIR W. EOWAN HAMILTON 

Rydal Mouxt, Sept. 9th, 1830. 
. . . We live in a strange sort of way in this country at 
the present season. Professor Wilson invited thirty per- 
1 Two sisters of Mrs. Wordsworth. 

[ S19 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

sons to dine with him the other day, though he had neither 
provisions nor cook. I have no doubt, however, that all 
passed off well; for contributions of eatables came from 
one neighbouring house, to my knowledge, and good 
spirits, good humour, and good conversation would make 
up for many deficiencies. In another house, a cottage 
about a couple of miles from the Professor's, were fifty 
-guests — how lodged I leave you to guess — only we were 
told the overflow, after all possible cramming, was received 
in the offices, farm-houses, etc., adjoining. All this looks 
more like what one has been told of Irish hospitality than 
aught that the formal English are up to. 

TO SIE W. EOWAN HAMILTON 

Lowther Castle, September 26, 1830. 

. . . Did I tell you that Professor Wilson with his two 
sons and daughter have been, and probably still are, at 
Elleray ? He heads the gaieties of the neighbourhood, and 
has presided as steward at two regattas. Do these employ- 
ments come under your notions of action as opposed to 
contemplation? Why should they not? Whatever the 
high moralists may say, the political economists will, I 
conclude, approve them as setting capital afloat, and giv- 
ing an impulse to manufacture and handicrafts — not to 
speak of the improvement which may come thence to navi- 
gation and nautical science. . . . 

There is another acquaintance of mine also recently 
gone — a person for whom I never had any love, but with 
whom I had for a short time a good deal of intimacy — I 
[ 320 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

mean Hazlitt, whose death you may have seen announced 
in the papers. He was a man of extraordinary acuteness, 
but perverse as Lord Byron himself, whose Life by Gait I 
have been skimming since I came here. 

TO SIR W. ROWAN HAMILTON 

Trinity Lodge, Cambridge, November 26, 1830. 
I reached this place nine days ago ... On the 5th of 
November, I was a solitary equestrian entering the roman- 
tic little town of Ashford-in-the- Waters, on the edge of 
the wilds of Derbyshire, at the close of the day, when 
guns were beginning to be let off and squibs to be fired on 
every side, so that I thought it prudent to dismount and 
lead my horse through the place, and so on to Bakewell, 
two miles further. You must know how I happened to be 
riding through these wild regions. It was my wish that 
Dora should have the benefit of her pony while at Cam- 
bridge, and, very valiantly and economically, I determined, 
unused as I am to horsemanship, to ride the creature my- 
self. I sent James with it to Lancaster ; there mounted, 
stopped a day at Manchester, a week at Coleorton, and so 
reached the end of my journey safe and sound — not, how- 
ever, without encountering two days of tempestuous rain. 
Thirty-seven miles did I ride in one day through the worst 
of these storms, and what was my resource ? Guess again 
— writing verses — to the memory of my departed friend 
Sir George Beaumont, whose house I had left the day be- 
fore. While buffeting the other storm I composed a son- 
net on the splendid domain of Chatsworth, which I had 
21 [ 321 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

seen in the morning, as contrasted with the secluded habi- 
tations of the narrow dells in the Peak ; and, as I passed 
the tame and manufacture-disfigured country of Lancashire, 
I was reminded, by the faded leaves, of Spring, and threw 
off a few stanzas of an ode to May. But too much of self 
and my own performances upon my steed, a descendant no 
doubt of Pegasus, though her owner and present rider 
knew nothing of it. 

Now a word about Professor Airy : I have seen him 
twice, but I did not communicate your message ; it was at 
dinner and at an evening party, and I thought it best not 
to speak of it till I saw him, which I mean to do, upon a 
morning call. There is a great deal of intellectual activity 
within the walls of this College, and in the University at 
large ; but conversation turns mainly upon the state of the 
country and the late change in the administration. The 
fires have extended to within eight miles of this place, from 
which I saw one of the worst, if not absolutely the worst, 
indicated by a redness in the sky, a few nights ago. . . . 
There is an interesting person in this University for a day 
or two, whom I have not yet seen, Kenelm Digby, author 
of The Broadstone of Honour, a book of chivalry, which I 
think was put into your hands at Eydal Mount. We 
have "also a respectable show of blossom in poetry — two 
brothers of the name of Tennyson, one in particular not a 
little promising. . . . My daughter has resumed her Ger- 
man labours, and is not easily drawn from what she takes 
to. . . . She owes a long letter to her brother in Germany, 
who, by the by, tells us that he will not cease to look out 
for the book of Kant you wished for. 
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THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

TO SIE W. ROWAN HAMILTON 

Buxted Rectory, Sussex, 24th January, 1831. 
. . . You are interested about Mr Coleridge. I saw 
him several times lately, and had long conversations with 
him. It grieves me to say that his constitution seems 
much broken up. I have heard that he has been worse 
since I saw him. His mind has lost none of its vigour, 
but he is certainly in that state of bodily health that no 
one who knows him could feel justified in holding out the 
hope of even an introduction to him as an inducement for 
your visiting London. Much do I regret this, for you 
may pass your life without meeting a man of such com- 
manding faculties. I hope that my criticisms have not 
deterred your sister from poetical composition. The world 
had indeed had enough of it lately, such as it is ; but that 
is no reason why a sensibility like hers should not give 
vent to itself in verse. 



TO JOHN KENYON 

Rydal Mount, Sept. 9, 1831. 
• ••••• 

The summer that is over has been with us as well as with 
you a brilliant one, for sunshine and fair calm weather — 
brilliant also for its unexampled gaiety in regattas, balls, 
dejeuners, pic-nics by the lakeside, on the islands, and on 
the mountain-tops, fireworks by night, dancing on the 
green-sward by day — in short, a fever of pleasure from 
morn to dewy eve — from dewy eve till break of day. 
[ 323 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Our youths and maidens, like Chaucer's Squire, "have 
slept no more than doth the nightingale/' and our old men 
have looked as bright as Tithonus when his withered cheek 
reflected the blushes of Aurora upon the first declaration 
of her passion for him. In the room where I am now 
dictating, we had, three days ago a dance — forty beaus 
and belles, besides matrons, ancient spinsters and grey- 
beards — and to-morrow in this same room we are to mus- 
ter for a venison feast. Why are you not here either to 
enjoy or to philosophise upon this dissipation ? Our party 
to-morrow is not so large but that we could find room for 
you and Mrs Kenyon. The disturbed state of the Conti- 
nent is no doubt the reason why, in spite of the Reform 
Bill, such multitudes of pleasure-hunters have found their 
way this summer to the Lakes. 

After so much levity, Mary shall transcribe for you a 
serious stanza or two, intended for an inscription in a part 
of the grounds of Bydal Mount with which you are not 
acquainted — a field adjoining our garden which I pur- 
chased two or three years ago. 

Under the shade of some pollard oaks, and on a green 
terrace in that field, we have lived no small part of the 
long bright days of the summer gone by ; and in a hazel 
nook of this favourite piece of ground, is a Stone, for 
which I wrote one day the following serious Inscription. 
You will forgive its egotism : 

In these fair Vales, hath many a Tree 
At Wordsworth's suit been spared, 
And from the Builder's hand this Stone 
For some rude beauty of its own, 
[ 324 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Was rescued by the Bard ; 
Long may it rest in peace, & here 
Perchance the tender-hearted 
"Will heave a gentle sigh for him 
As One of the Departed. 



TO SIR WALTER SCOTT 1 

Carlisle, Sept. 16 [1831]. 

My dear Sir Walter, — " There 's a man wi' a veil, 
and a lass drivin',"" exclaimed a little urchin, as we entered 
Merrie Carlisle a couple of hours ago, on our way to 
Abbotsford. . . . 

A nephew of mine, 2 a student of Christchurch — and I 
may add, a distinguished one — to whom I could not but 
allow the pleasure of accompanying us, has taken the 
Newcastle road into Scotland, hoping to join me at Abbots- 
ford. If he should arrive before us, let him be no restraint 
upon you whatever. Let him loose in your library or on 
the Tweed with his fishing-rod, or in the stubble with his 
gun (he is but a novice of a shot, by-the-by) and he will 
be no trouble to any part of your family. I am, very 
affectionately yours. 

W. W. 

1 "Written en route to Abbotsford in order to see Sir Walter Scott before 
bis departure for Italy. Wordsworth was suffering severely from one of bis 
attacks of inflammation of tbe eyes ; bis daughter Dora was bis travelling 
companion. This was the last meeting of two men whose uninterrupted 
friendship bad continued twenty-eigbt years. 

2 Afterwards Bishop Wordsworth of St. Andrews. 

[ 325 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

YAEEOW EEYISITED 1 

The gallant Youth, who may have gained, 

Or seeks a " winsome Marrow/' 
Was but an Infant in the lap 

When first I looked on Yarrow ; 
Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate 

Long left without a warder, 
I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, 

Great Minstrel of the Border ! 

Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, 

Their dignity installing 
In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves 

Were on the bough, or falling ; 
But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed — 

The forest to embolden ; 
Eeddened the fiery hues, and shot 

Transparence through the golden. 

For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on 

In foamy agitation ; 
And slept in many a crystal pool 

For quiet contemplation : 
No public and no private care 

The freeborn mind enthralling, 
We made a day of happy hours, 

Our happy days recalling. 

1 A memorial of a day passed with Sir Walter Scott and other friends, 
visiting the Banks of the Yarrow under his guidance immediately before his 
departure from Abbotsford for Naples. (Wordsworth's Note.) 

[ 326 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth, 

With freaks of graceful folly, — 
life's temperate Noon, her sober Eve, 

Her Night not melancholy ; 
Past, present, future, all appeared 

In harmony united, 
Like guests that meet, and some from far, 

By cordial love invited. 

And if, as Yarrow, through the woods 

And down the meadow ranging, 
Did meet us with unaltered face, 

Though we were changed and changing ; 
If, then, some natural shadows spread 

Our inward prospect over, 
The souVs deep valley was not slow 

Its brightness to recover. 

Eternal blessings on the Muse, 

And her divine employment ! 
The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons 

Eor hope and calm enjoyment; 
Albeit sickness, lingering yet, 

Has o'er their pillow brooded ; 
And Care waylays their steps — a Sprite 

Not easily eluded. 

For thee, Scott ! compelled to change 
Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot 

Eor warm Yesuvio's vine-clad slopes ; 
And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot 
[ 327 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

For mild SoremVs breezy waves ; 

May classic Fancy linking 
With native Fancy her fresh aid, 

Preserve thy heart from sinking ! 

Oh ! while they minister to thee, 

Each vying with the other, 
May Health return to mellow Age 

With Strength, her venturous brother ; 
And Tiber, and each brook and rill 

Eenowned in song and story, 
With unimagined beauty shine, 

Nor lose one ray of glory ! 

For Thou, upon a hundred streams, 

By tales of love and sorrow, 
Of faithful love, undaunted truth, 

Hast shed the power of Yarrow ; 
And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, 

Wherever they invite Thee, 
At parent Nature's grateful call, 

With gladness must requite Thee. 

A gracious welcome shall be thine, 

Such looks of love and honour 
As thy own Yarrow gave to me 

When first I gazed upon her ; 
Beheld what I had feared to see, 

Unwilling to surrender 
Dreams treasured up from early days, 

The holy and the tender. 
[ 328 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

And what, for this frail world, were all 

That mortals do or suffer, 
Did no responsive harp, no pen, 

Memorial tribute offer ? 
Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? 

Her features, could they win us, 
Unhelped by the poetic voice 

That hourly speaks within us ? 

Nor deem that localised Eomance 

Plays false with our affections ; 
Unsanctifies our tears — made sport 

For fanciful dejections : 
Ah, no ! the visions of the past 

Sustain the heart in feeling 
Life as she is — our changeful Life, 

With friends and kindred dealing. 

Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day 

In Yarrow's groves were centred ; 
Who through the silent portal arch 

Of mouldering Newark entered ; 
And clomb the winding stair that once 

Too timidly was mounted 
By the " last Minstrel/' (not the last !) 

Ere he his Tale recounted. 

Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream ! 

Fulfil thy pensive duty, 
Well pleased that future Bards should chant 

For simple hearts thy beauty ; 
[ 329 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

To dream-light dear while yet unseen, 

Dear to the common sunshine, 
And dearer still, as now I feel, 

To memory's shadowy moonshine ! 

TO SIE WILLIAM EOWAN HAMILTON 

Moresby, June 25, 1832. 

. . . My dear sister has been languishing more than 
seven months in a sick-room, nor dare I or any of her 
friends entertain a hope that her strength will ever be 
restored ; and the course of public affairs, as I think I told 
you before, threatens, in my view, destruction to the 
Institutions of the country ; an event which, whatever may 
rise out of it hereafter, cannot but produce distress and 
misery for two or three generations at least. In any times 
I am but at best a poor and unpunctual correspondent, yet I 
am pretty sure you would have heard from me but for this 
reason ; therefore let the statement pass for an apology as 
far as you think fit. . . . 

It gives me much pleasure that you and Coleridge have 
met, and that you were not disappointed in the conversa- 
tion of a man from whose writings you had previously 
drawn so much delight and improvement. He and my 
beloved sister are the two beings to whom my intellect is 
most indebted, and they are now proceeding, as it were 
pari passu, along the path of sickness — I will not say 
towards the grave, but I trust towards a blessed 
immortality. 

It was not my intention to write so seriously ; my heart 
is full, and you must excuse it. You do not tell me how 
[ 330 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

you like Cambridge as a place, nor what you thought of 
its buildings and other works of art. Did you not see 
Oxford as well ? It has greatly the advantage over Cam- 
bridge in its happy intermixture of streets, churches, and 
collegiate buildings. 

... A fortnight ago I came hither to my son and 
daughter, who are living a gentle, happy, quiet, and useful 
life together. My daughter Dora is also with us. . . . 
A week ago appeared here Mr W. S. Landor the poet, and 
author of the Imaginary Conversations, which probably 
have fallen in your way. We had never met before, 
though several letters had passed between us, and as I had 
not heard that he was in Englaud, my gratification in 
seeing him was heightened by surprise. We passed a day 
together at the house of my friend Mr Eawson, on the 
banks of Wast- Water. His conversation is lively and 
original, his learning great, though he will not allow it, 
and his laugh the heartiest I have heard for a long time. 
It is, I think, not much less than twenty years since he 
left England for France and afterwards Italy, where he 
hopes to end his days, — nay, has fixed near Florence 
upon the spot where he wishes to be buried. 

TO HENEY NELSON COLERIDGE 

July 29, 1834. 

It is nearly forty years since I first became acquainted 
with him whom we have just lost;- 1 and though, with the 
exception of six weeks when we were on the Continent 

1 Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whose death occurred on July 25, 1834. 

[ 331 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

along with my daughter, I have seen little of him for the 
last twenty years, his mind has been habitually present 
with me, with an accompanying feeling that he was still in 
the flesh. That frail tie is broken, and most of those who 
are nearest and dearest to me must prepare and endeavour 
to follow him. 



TO HENRY CRABB EOBINSON 

Rydal Mount [Undated, but probably 1835]. 

The weather here is very sharp, and to-day we have a 
blustering wind, tearing off the blossoms and twigs from 
the trees with almost equal disregard. At breakfast, this 
morning, we received from some unknown friend the 
Examiner, containing a friendly notice of my late volume. 
Is it discreditable to say that these things interest me little 
but as they may tend to promote the sale, which, with the 
prospects of unavoidable expense before me, is a greater 
object to me, much greater, than it would otherwise have 
been ? The private testimonies which I receive very fre- 
quently of the effect of my writings upon the hearts and 
minds of men are indeed very gratifying, because I am 
sure they must be written under pure influences ; but it is 
not necessarily, or even probably so, with strictures intended 
for the public. The one are effusions, the other composi- 
tions, and liable in various degrees to intermixtures that 
take from their value. It is amusing to me to have proofs 
how critics and authors differ in judgment, both as to 
fundamentals and incidentals. As an instance of the latter, 
[ 332 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

see the passage where I speak of Horace, quoted in the 
Examiner. The critic marks in italics for approbation 
certain passages, but he takes no notice of three words, in 
delicacy of feeling worth, in my estimation, all the rest — 
" he only listening." Again, what he observes in praise of 
my mode of dealing with nature as opposed to my treat- 
ment of human life — which, as he says, is not to be 
trusted — would be reversed, as it has been by many, who 
hear that I ran into excess in my pictures of the influence 
of natural objects, and assign to them an importance 
which they are not entitled to ; while in my treatment of 
the intellectual instincts, affections, and passions of man- 
kind, I am nobly distinguished by having drawn out into 
notice the points in which they resemble each other, in 
preference to dwelling (as dramatic authors must do) upon 
those in which they differ. If my writings are to last, it 
will, I myself believe, be mainly owing to this character- 
istic. They will please for the single cause, " That we 
have all of us one human heart/'' Farewell. 

TO MES. WOEDSWOKTH 1 

Munich, Monday July 17, 1837. 
... At present I consider our tour finished ; and all 
my thoughts are fixed upon home, where I am most impa- 
tient to be, . . . particularly as there are (as must be the 
case with all companions in travel) so many things in habit 
and inclination, where Mr E. and I differ. Upon these I 

1 Mrs. "Wordsworth was at Brinsop Court, Herefordshire, during this 
fifth and last of Wordsworth's Continental tours. His companion was 
Henry Crabb Robinson, and they were absent nearly five months. 

[ 383 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

shall not dwell at present, as the only one I care about is 
this : he has no home to go to but chambers, and wishes 
to stay abroad, at least to linger abroad, which I, having 
the blessing of a home, do not. Again, he takes delight 
in loitering about towns, gossiping, and attending reading- 
rooms, and going to coffee-houses, and in table d'Mtes, 
etc., gabbling German or any other tongue, all which 
places and practices are my abomination. In the evenings 
I cannot read, as the candlelight hurts my eyes ; and I 
have therefore no resource but to go to bed, while I should 
like exceedingly, when upon our travels, if it were agree- 
able to him, to rise early ; but though he will do this, he 
dislikes it much, so that I don't press it. He sleeps so 
much at odd times in the day that he does not like going 
to bed till midnight. In this, and a hundred other things, 
our tastes and habits are quite at variance, though nobody 
can be more obliging in giving up his own ; but you must 
be aware it is very unpleasant in me to require this. In 
fact, I have very strong reasons for wishing this tour, 
which I have found so beneficial to my mind, at an end 
for the sake of my body. . . . 

... A. man must travel alone, I mean without one of 
his family, to feel what his family is to him ! How often 
have I wished for James to assist me about the carriage, 
greasing the wheels, etc., a most tedious employment, 
fastening the baggage, etc., for nothing can exceed the 
stupidity of these foreigners. Tell him how I wish I had 
been rich enough to bring him along with me ! . . . God 
bless you all ! 

[ 334 ] 



S > 2= 










o 

X 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

Thursday Morning, 20th. 
... I am quite tired of this place, the weather has 
been very bad, and after the Galleries close, which is at 
twelve o'clock and one, I have nothing to do ; and, as I 
cannot speak German, time moves very heavily. The 
Ticknors are here, and I have passed a couple of hours 
every evening with them. — God bless you again ! . . . 

TO B. E. HAYDON 

Rydal Mount, 28th February, 1832. 

There are some opinions in your " Essay " 1 about which 
I should like to talk with you, as, for example, when you 
say Eaphael learned nothing from Perugino but what he 
had to unlearn. Surely this is far from the truth ; un- 
doubtedly there is in him as in all the elder masters a 
hardness, and a stiffness, and a want of skill in composition, 
but in simplicity and in depth of expression, he deserves to 
be looked up to by Raphael to the last of days. The 
" Transfiguration " would have been a much finer picture 
than it is if Raphael had not at that period of his life lost 
sight of Perugino and others, his predecessors. 

Whoever goes into Italy, if pictures be much of an 
object, ought to begin where I ended, at Venice. Not as 
I did with the pure and admirable productions of Fra 
Bartolomeo at Lucca, and with Raphael at Rome, so on to 

1 Haydon's Essay on " Painting " in Encyclopaedia Britannica. Haydon 
replied, admitting that Wordsworth was right, saying, " I fear it was 
thoughtless to speak of Perugino as I did, which I will correct, for you are 
certainly right." 

[ 335 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

Florence, Bologna, Pavia, and Milan, and Florence by 
way of conclusion. Italian pictures ought to be taken in 
order, or as nearly as may be so, Milan, Padua, Venice, 
Bologna, Pa via, Florence, and Eoine. 

Your " Essay " does you great credit, I had a sad 
account of the French Academy at Eome. The students 
appear to be doing little or nothing, and spend their time 
in dissipation. 



FROM WORDSWORTH'S CONVERSATION 
(reported by lady richardson) 

August 28, 1841. 
...... 

At the time I resolved to dedicate myself to poetry, 
and separate myself from the ordinary lucrative professions, 
it would certainly have been a great object to me to have 
reaped the profits I should have done from my writings, 
but for the stupidity of Mr Gifford and the impertinence 
of Mr Jeffrey. It would have enabled me to purchase 
many books which I could not obtain, and I should have 
gone to Italy earlier, which I never could afford to do until 
I was sixty-five, when Moxon gave me a thousand pounds 
for my writings. This was the only kind of injury Mr 
Jeffrey did me, for I immediately perceived that his mind 
was of that kind that his individual opinion on poetry was 
of no consequence to me whatever, that it was only by the 
influence his periodical exercised at the time, in prevent- 
ing my poems being read and sold, that he could injure 
me; for, feeling that my writings were founded on what 
[ 336 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

was true and spiritual in human nature, I knew the time 
would come when they must be known, and I never there- 
fore felt his opinion of the slightest value, except in pre- 
venting the young of that generation from receiving 
impressions which might have been of use to them through 
life. I say this, I hope, not in a boasting spirit, but I am 
now daily surprised by receiving letters from various places 
at home and abroad expressive of gratitude to me, from 
persons I never saw or heard of. As this occurs now, I 
may fairly conclude that it might have been so when the 
poems appeared, but for the tyranny exercised over public 
opinion by the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews. 

TO PROFESSOR HENRY REED 1 

Rydal Mount, July 18, 1842. 

My dear Sir, — ... I have just resigned the office 
which to my own great convenience and advantage I have 
held for nearly 30 years, in favour of my younger son, 
who had acted under me for more than 11 years. By this 
step my small income has been reduced more than one- 
half, for there is no truth in what you may have seen in 
the newspapers that " I had retired upon a pension." 

I lately received from Mr Dickens a printed circular 
letter, in which he states that, having presented through 
Mr Clay a petition to Congress, signed by the whole body 
of American authors, praying for the establishment of an 
international law of Copyright — to counteract this peti- 
tion, as the circular states, a meeting was held at Boston, 

1 Editor of the first American edition of Wordsworth's Poems. 

22 [ 337 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

at which a memorial against any change in the existing 
state of things was agreed to, with bnt one dissentient 
voice. This document, which was received, deliberately 
stated that if English authors were invested with any con- 
trol over the republication of their own books, it would be 
no longer possible for American editors to alter and adapt 
them (as they do now) to the American taste. 

Thus far the circular. And I ask you if it be possible 
that any person of the lowest degree of respectability in 
Boston could sign a document in its spirit so monstrous, 
and so injurious in its tendency ? 

... I returned to Eydal a month ago, after having 
been nearly six weeks in London. . . . The book trade is 
in a most depressed state — nothing but such books as 
have a connection with Theology, and the religious ferment 
that originated in Oxford, seeming to have the power of 
inducing people to part with their money for literature's 
sake. Nor is this much to be wondered at, for all ranks 
and classes are compelled by difficulties in the state of 
things to reduce their expenditure. . . . Your much 
obliged friend, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 

TO PEOEESSOE HENEY EEED 

Rydal Mount, March 23, 1843. 
. . . You give me pleasure by the interest you take in 
the various pages in which I speak of the poets, my con- 
temporaries, who are no more. Dear Southey, one of the 
most eminent, is just added to the list a few days ago. I 
[ 338 ] 



H 



ELM Crag, Grasmere Lake. 




" The shadowy vale, the sunny mountain-top; 
Woods waving in the wind their lofty heads, 
Or hushed ; the roaring waters and the still — 
They see the offering of my lifted hands." 

— From The Excursion, Book ix, p. 288. 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

went over to Keswick to attend his remains to their last 
earthly abode. For upwards of a year and a half his 
powers of recognition — except very rarely, and but for a 
moment — have been all but extinct. His bodily health 
was grievously impaired, and his medical attendant says 
that he must have died long since, but for the very great 
strength of his natural constitution. As to his literary 
remains they must be very considerable, but, except his 
epistolary correspondence, more or less unfinished. His 
letters cannot but be very numerous ; and, if carefully col- 
lected, and judiciously selected, will, I doubt not, add 
greatly to his reputation. He had a fine talent for that 
species of composition, and took much delight in throwing 
off his mind in that way. Mr Taylor, the dramatic author, 
is his literary executor. 

... I will add a few words upon the wish you express 
that I would pay a tribute to the English poets of past 
ages, who never had the fame they are entitled to, and 
have long been almost entirely neglected. Had this been 
suggested to me earlier in life, or had it come into my 
thoughts, the thing in all probability would have been 
done. At present I cannot hope it will, but it may afford 
you some satisfaction to be told that in the MS. poem upon 
my poetic education there is a whole book of about 600 
lines upon my obligation to writers of imagination, and 
chiefly the poets, though I have not expressly named those 
to whom you allude, and for whom and many others of 
their age I have a high respect. The character of the 
schoolmaster, about whom you inquire, had, like the Wan- 
derer in The Excursion, a solid foundation in fact and 
[ 339 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

reality, but, like him, it was also in some degree a compo- 
sition. I will not, and need not, call it an invention — it 
was no such thing ; but were I to enter into details I fear 
it would impair the effect of the whole upon your mind, 
nor could I do it at all to my own satisfaction. I send you, 
according to your wish, the additions to the ecclesiastical 
sonnets, and also the last poem from my pen. I threw it 
off two or three weeks ago, being in a great measure im- 
pelled to it by the desire I felt to do justice to the memory 
of a heroine, whose conduct presented some time ago a 
striking contrast to the inhumanity with which our coun- 
trymen shipwrecked lately upon the French coast have 
been treated. — Ever most faithfully yours, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 

I must request that Grace Barling may not be reprinted. 



TO EDWABD MOXON 

October 12, 1846. 
• ••••• 

Miss Barrett, I am pleased to learn, is so far recovered 
as to have taken to herself a husband. 1 He is a very able 
man. Doubtless they will speak more intelligibly to each 
other than they have yet done to the public. 

1 The marriage of Robert Browning to Elizabeth Barrett took place on 
September 12, 1846. 



[ 340 ] 



THE YEARS 1813 TO 1850 

TO SIR ROBERT PEEL 1 

Rydal Mount, Ambleside, April 4, 1843. 
Dear Sir Robert, — Having since my first acquaint- 
ance with Horace borne in mind the charge which he tells 
us frequently thrilled his ear, 

Solve senescentem mature sanus equum, ne 
Peccet ad extremum, 

I could not but be deterred from incurring responsibilities 
which I might not prove equal to, at so late a period of 
life; but as my mind has been entirely set at ease by the 
very kind and most gratifying letter with which you have 
honoured me, and by a second communication from the 
Lord Chamberlain to the same effect, and in a like spirit, I 
have accepted with unqualified pleasure a distinction 
sanctioned by her Majesty, and which expresses, upon 
authority entitled to the highest respect, a sense of the 
national importance of Poetic Literature ; and so favour- 
able an opinion of the success with which it has been cul- 
tivated by one, who, after this additional mark of your 
esteem, cannot refrain from again assuring you how deeply 
sensible he is of the many and great obligations he owes 
to your goodness, and who has the honour to be, dear Sir 
Robert, most faithfully, your humble servant, 

William Wordsworth. 

1 In reply to a letter from the Prime Minister urging Wordsworth to 
reconsider his refusal to become Poet -Laureate, and adding, " I will under- 
take that nothing shall be required of you." 

[ 341 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

TO PEOFESSOE EEED 

Rtdal Mount, Ambleside, July 1, 1845. 
. . . My absence from home lately was not of mora 
than three weeks. I took the journey to London solely to 
pay my respects to the Queen upon my appointment to the 
Laureateship upon the decease of my friend Mr Southey. 
The weather was very cold, and I caught an inflammation 
in one of my eyes, which rendered my stay in the south 
very uncomfortable. I nevertheless did, in respect to the 
object of my journey, all that was required. The recep- 
tion given me by the Queen at her ball was most gracious. 
Mrs Everett, the wife of your minister, among many 
others, was a witness to it, without knowing who it was. 
It moved her to the shedding of tears. This effect was in 
part produced, I suppose, by American habits of feel- 
ing, as pertaining to a republican government. To see a 
grey-haired man of seventy-five years of age, kneeling down 
in a large assembly to kiss the hand of a young woman, is 
a sight for which institutions essentially democratic do not 
prepare a spectator of either sex, and must naturally place 
the opinions upon which a republic is founded, and the 
sentiments which support it, in strong contrast with a 
government based and upheld as ours is. I am not, there- 
fore, surprised that Mrs Everett was moved, as she herself 
described to persons of my acquaintance, among others to 
Mr Eogers, the poet. By the by, of this gentleman, now 
I believe, in his eighty-third year, I saw more than any other 
person except my host, Mr Moxon, while I was in London. 
He is singularly fresh and strong for his years, and his 
[ 342 ] 



WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

mental faculties (with the exception of his memory a little) 
not at all impaired. It is remarkable that he and the Rev. 
W*. Bowles were both distinguished as poets when I was a 
schoolboy, and they have survived almost all their eminent 
contemporaries, several of whom came into notice long 
after them. Since they became known, Burns, Cowper, 
Mason, the author of " Caractacus M and friend of Gray, 
have died. Thomas Wart on, Laureate, then Byron, Shelley, 
Keats, and a good deal later, Scott, Coleridge, Crabbe, 
Southey, Lamb, the Ettrick Shepherd, Cary, the translator 
of Dante, Crowe, the author of " Lewesdon Hill," and others 
more or less distinguished have disappeared. And now of 
English poets, advanced in life, I cannot recall any but 
James Montgomery, Thomas Moore, and myself, who are 
living, except the octogenarian with whom I began. 

I saw Tennyson when I was in London, several times. 
He is decidedly the first of our living poets, and I hope 
will live to give the world still better things. You will be 
pleased to hear that he expressed in strongest terms his 
gratitude to my writings. To this I was far from indif- 
ferent, though persuaded that he is not much in sympathy 
with what I should myself most value in my attempts, viz. : 
the spirituality with which I have endeavoured to invest 
the material universe, and the moral relations under which 
I have wished to exhibit its most ordinary appearances. . . . 

I have not left room to subscribe myself more than 
Affectionately yours, 

Wax. Wordsworth. 



[ Si 3 ] 



INDEX 



INDEX 



Abbotsford, 325, 326 

Aira Force, see Airey-Force Valley 

Airey-Force Valley, 312, 313 

Airy, Professor, 322 

Alfoxden, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115 
et seq., 143, 225 ; illustration p. 
90 

Allan Bank, Grasmere, 223, 224 

Ambleside, 12, 259, 288, 291, 305, 
341 

American movement toward in- 
ternational copyright law, 337, 
338 

Applcthwaite, 163, 164, 165 

Ashby-de-la-Zouch, Leicester- 
shire, 218 

Ashford-in-the- Waters, 321 

Askrigg, 137, 138 

Bakewell, 321 

Baldwin, Cecilia, 113 

Barnard Castle, 137 

Barrett, Elizabeth (Mrs. Robert 
Browning), 340 

Bassenthwaite, Lake of, 65 

Beaumont, Lady, 165, 166, 189, 
191, 208, 209, 213, 214, 215, 
217, 218, 219, 259 

Beaumont, Sir George, 163, 165, 
166, 170, 172, 184 et seq., 190, 
211, 212, 218, 222, 259, 296, 321 

Blackett, Miss, 310 et seq. 

Blea Tarn, 263; illustration p. 
268 

Blea Tarn Cottage, 257; illus- 
tration p. 256 

Blencathara, 231, 232 

Borrowdale "Four," 192; illus- 
tration p. 204 

Bowles, Rev. W., 343 



Bowscale Tarn, 232 

Brimmer Head Bridge, illustra- 
tion p. 220 

Brinsop Court, Herefordshire, 333 

Bristol, 74, 103 

" Broadstone of Honour, The," 
Kenelm Digby, 322 

Brother's Water, 193 

Brough Castle, 229 

Brougham Castle, 228; illustra- 
tion p. 214 

Browning, Robert, 340 

Buonaparte, Napoleon, 86, 290, 291 

Burgoyne, Montagu, 310 

Burns, Robert, 343 

Buttermere, 138 

Buxted Rectory, Sussex, 323 

Byron, Lord, 321, 343 

Calvert, Raisley, 74, 83 

Calvert, William, 63, 66 

Cam (River), 43, 58, 301 

Cambridge, 42 et seq., 56-60, 321, 
322, 331; illustrations pp. 48, 
56, 66 

Carlisle, 325 

Carrock, 230 

Gary, Rev. Henry F., 343 

Castle Sowerby, Cumberland, 230 

Charnwood Forest, 216 

Chatsworth Castle, 321 

Cheviot Hill, 327 

Church service at Coleorton, 212, 
213 

Clarkson, Mr. and Mrs., of Ulls- 
water, 145 

Clovenford, 168 

Clyde (River), 168 

Cockermouth, 14, 15, 17; illus- 
tration p. 3 



[ 347 ] 



INDEX 



Cockermouth Castle, 16, 19; 
frontispiece 

Coleorton farm-house, 208, 209, 
212 214 218 219 

Coleorton Hall, 184, 190, 208, 321 

Coleridge, Derwent, 215, 216, 217 

Coleridge, Hartley, 215, 216, 217, 
218 

Coleridge, Henry Nelson, 331 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 30, 31, 
47, 87, 89, 90, 99, 107, 110-113, 
115 et seq., 131, 136, 143, 148, 
163, 164, 166, 167, 174, 209-213, 
215-218, 221, 224, 288, 323, 330, 
331, 343 

Coleridge, Mrs. Sara, 113, 143, 
210-212, 215-217, 224 

Coniston "Old Man," illustra- 
tion p. 72 

Cottle, Thomas, 113-115 

Cowper, William, 343 

Crabbe, George, 343 

Crosthwaite Church, 314; illus- 
tration p. 316 

Crowe, William, 343 

Dante, folio copy of, in Words- 
worth's possession, 294; ap- 
preciation of works, 295 

Derbyshire, 321 

Derwent (River), 9, 17, 19; fron- 
tispiece 

Derwentwater, 65 ; illustrations 
pp. 16, 208 

"Descriptive Sketches," publica- 
tion of, 67 

Dickens, Charles, 337 

Digby, Kenelm, 322 

Donnerdale, 304 

Dove Cottage, Grasmere, 125, 
131, 136, 142, 160-162, 176, 182, 
195 ; illustrations pp. 121, 132, 
136, 140, 162, 194 

Druid stones and worship, 11, 35, 
286, 287 

Dryborough Abbey, 168 

Duddon (River), 302-305; illus- 
tration p. 304 

Dungeon-Ghyll Force, 156 et seq.; 
illustration p. 158 



Dunmail Gap, 214 

Dunmail Raise, illustration p. 128 

Easedale, 145 

Easedale Beck, 187 

Easedale Tarn, illustration p. 228 

Economist, 113 

Eden (River), 229 

Eildon Hills, 327 

Ellaray, 320 

Emma's Dell, 145, 146; illustra- 
tion p. 146 

Emont (River), 230; illustration 
p. 214 

Esthwaite, 9, 20, 38, 54, 93, 177; 
illustration p. 20 

" Evening Walk, An," publication 
of, 62, 67 

Everett, Mrs. Edward, 342 

Examiner, 288, 332, 333 

Fairfield, 181 

" Far-terrace," Rydal Mount, 252, 

324 
Ferry Nab, Lake Windermere, 

illustration p. 42 
Fir grove, Wordsworth's, 175, 

313 ; illustration p. 176 
Fitzgerald, Lady, 189 
Forncett, 59, 60, 83, 64 
Forth (River), 168 
Fox, Mr., 188, 291 
Fox-Ghyll, 310 
Friar's Crag, illustration p. 16 
Furness Abbey, 35, 312 ; illustrc 

tion p. 34 

Gala Water, 168 
Gallow-hill, near Scarborough, 160 
Gait, " Life of Byron," 321 
German tour and study, 113, 

143 
Gifford, Mr., of the Quarterly 

Review, 336, 337 
Glaramara, 193 
Glastonbury Tor, 112 
Glenderamakin, 231 
Gordon, G. Huntly, 315 
Gowbarrow Fell, 312 



[ 348 ] 



INDEX 



Gowbarrow Park, 147; illustra- 
tion p. 168 

" Grace Darling," composition 
of, 340 

Grace Dieu Nunnery, in Charn- 
wood Forest, 216 

Grasmere village and vale, 9, 20, 
64, 125 et seq., 136, 142, 144, 
150, 160-163, 165, 166, 170, 172, 
177, 178, 181, 182, 188, 190, 
208, 218, 223-226, 251, 269, 
273, 305, 308; illustrations pp. 
121, 128, 146, 286, 292 

Grasmere church and church- 
yard, 127, 269, 273; illus- 
trations see St. Oswald's, 
Grasmere 

Grasmere Lake, 127, 142, 178, 
269; island in, 9, 127, 178; il- 
lustration p. 338 

Gray, Thomas, 65, 292, 343 

Greta Hall, 163 

Grisdale Hawes, 181 

Grisdale Tarn and Pass, 181; 
illustration p. 182 

" Guilt and Sorrow," 88 

Hackett Cottage, Little Lang- 
dale Vale, 271; illustration p. 
274 
Hamilton, Miss E. M., 323 
Hamilton, Sir W. Rowan, 319, 

320, 321, 323, 330 
Hardrane, 139 
Hare, Augustus, 296 
Hare, Mr., of Cambridge, 295 
Hartsop (Hartshope) Hall, 259 
Hawkshead, 12, 20 et seq., 31, 49, 
99, 197 ; illustrations pp. 20, 26, 
30 52 
Haydon, B. R., 288, 289, 335 
Hazlitt, William, 288, 320, 321 
Helm Crag, illustration p. 338 
Helvellyn, 181, 310 et seq.; illustra- 
tion p. 322 
High Street, Oxford, 301 ; illus- 
tration p. 334 
Hogg, James, the " Ettrick Shep- 
herd," 343 
Hood, Paxton, 126 



Hutchinsons, the, 131, 144, 212, 
215, 217, 314, 319 

"Imaginary Conversations," W* 

S. Landor, 331 
International copyright laws, 337, 

338 
Isis (Thames) River, 58, 301 
Italian, study of, 60 
Ivy Cottage, Rydal, 297 

Jeffrey, Mr., of the Edinburgh 

Review, 336, 337 
Jones, Robert, 59 
Juvenal, proposed imitations of, 



Keats, John, 289, 343 
Kendal, 137, 217, 225 
Kenyon, John, 294, 323 
Kenyon, Mrs. John, 324 
Keswick, 64, 65, 143, 166, 212, 

214, 231, 314, 339; illustration 

p. 316 
Keswick, Lake of, 65 
King's College Chapel, 43, 56 et 

seq. ; illustration p. 56 

Lamb, Charles and Mary, 316; 
Charles, 343 

Lancashire, 322 

Lancaster, 321 

Landor, Walter S., 291, 293, 294, 
331 

Landscape gardening, Words- 
worth's taste for, 190, 191, 218 

Langdale Pikes, 158, 257, 297; 
illustrations pp. 262, 298 

" Laodamia," composition of, 294 

Latin, reading of, 60, 291, 292 

Laureateship, choice of Words- 
worth for the, 341, 342 

Lincoln Cathedral, 58 

Lmgmoor ("yon dark moun- 
tain"), 271 

Little Langdale Vale, 260, 271 

Lodore, Fall of, 9 ; illustration p. 8 

London, Words worth's stops in, 
48, 59, 74, 200, 203, 342 

Lonsdale, Lord, the elder, 170 



[ 349 ] 



INDEX 



Lonsdale, Lord, the son, 226, 227 

Lorton Vale, 192 

Lorton Yews, 192 

Losh, James, 112, 290 

Loughrigg Fell, 285; illustration 
p. 280 

Loughrigg Tarn, 166; illustra- 
tion p. 280 

Lowther Castle, 320 

Lowther, Lord, 170, 171 

Lowther Woods, 192 

Lyn (River), at Lynmouth, il- 
lustration p. 76 

Lynton, illustration p. 98 

Manchester, 321 
Manuscripts, Wordsworth's 294 
Marshall, Mrs., 73, 88, 110, 142, 

223 251 
Mason, William, 343 
Mathews, William, 59, 67 
Millhouse, 73 
Monkhouse, Thomas, 317 
Montagu, Basil, 73, 74 
Montgomery, James, 343 
Monthly Revieio, The, 114 
Moore, Thomas, 343 
Moresby, 330 
Mosedale Vale, 231 
Moxon, Edward, 336, 340, 342 
Myers, T., 73 

Nab-Scar, 148, 150, 155; illus- 
trations pp. 150, 154 

National Trust for preserving 
places of historic interest, 312 

Nether-Stowey, 110, 111, 112, 225 

Newark, 326, 329 

New College, Oxford, 296 

Oxford, 296, 301, 331, 338 ; illus- 
trations pp. 328, 334 

Pass of Kirkstone, 298 et seq. 

Patterdale (Paterdale), 181, 259 

Peel, Sir Robert, 341 

Peele Castle, 184 et seq. 

Pendragon Castle, 229 

Penrith, 42, 228 

" Peter Bell," engraving for, 222 



Pollard, Miss Jane, 42, 59, 60, 63, 

64, 73. See Mrs. Marshall 
Poole, Thomas, 225 
"Prelude, The," concerning the 

composition of, 173, 174, 339 
Primrose Rock, 308 
Publication of poems, 9, 47, 62, 

67, 74, 88, 114, 115, 143, 213, 

219, 332, 336, 337 

Qtjantock Hills, 116, 225; illus- 
tration p. 110 

Queen, the Poet's audience with 
the 342 

Quillinan, Rotha, 189 

Racedown, 74, 88, 89, 110, 111 

Rawson, Mr., 331 

"Recluse, The," concerning the 
composition of, 114 

Red Tarn, illustration p. 322 

Reed, Professor Henry, 337, 338, 
342 

Religious books, 295, 338 

Richardson, Lady, 336 

Richmond, 137 

Robinson, Henry Crabbe, 316, 
332, 333 

Robinson, Mrs. Mary, 143 

Rocks, " two heath-clad," 313 

Rogers, Samuel, 342 

Roman occupation, relics of, 
252 

Rothay (River), 187 et seq.; illus- 
trations pp. 150, 186, 190, 200 

Rydal, 308 

Rydal Lake, 155, 182, 318; illus- 
trations pp. 154, 250 

Rydal Mount, 227, 251-253, 288- 
291, 293, 294, 296, 315, 316, 
319, 322-324, 332, 335, 337, 
338, 341, 342 ; illustration p. 245 

Saddleback (Blencathara), 232 

St. John's College, Cambridge, 
43 ; illustration p. 48 

St. John's College Chapel, illus- 
tration p. 66 

St. Kentigern's, Crosthwaite, 314 

St. Mary's Lake, 169 



[ 350 ] 



INDEX 



St. Oswald's, Grasmere, illustra- 
tions pp. 286, 292, 342. See 
Grasmere church and church 
yard 

Sarah and Mary Crags, 313, 314 

Scott, Sir Walter, 166, 325 et seq., 
343 

Scottish tours, 165, 167, 168 

Sedbergh, 128 

Selkirk, 168 

Severn (River), 292 

Shelley, Percy B., 343 

Silver-how Mountain, 178 

Skating, 289, 318 

Skiddaw, Mt., 20, 65, 208, 315; 
illustration p. 208 

Skipton Castle, 229 

Smith, William, 289 

Sockburn, 114, 115, 137 

Somersetshire village road, illus- 
tration p. 114 

Somersetshire,Wordsworth's home 
near Holford, illustration p. 82 

Sonnets, composition of, 293 

Southey, Robert, 115, 166, 288, 
289, 314, 338, 342, 343 

Spedding, Mr., and family, of 
Armathwaite, 66 

Stamp Distributor, Wordsworth's 
appointment as, 227, 337 

Stepping-stones on the Duddon, 
302 

Stirling Castle, 168 

Stowey, see Nether-Stowey 

Striding Edge, illustration p. 322 

Stybarrow Crag, Ullswater, illus- 
tration p. 168 

Swale (River), 137 

Swiss tour, 47 

Sympson, Pastor, 144 

Talfotjrd, Thomas N., 317 

Tay (River), 168 

Taylor, Sir Henry, 339 

Tees (River), 137 

Tennyson brothers, 322; Alfred 

Tennyson, 343 
Teviot (River), 327 
Thames (Isis) River, 58, 292 
Thrang Crag, illustration p. 298 



Threlkeld, 232 

Ticknors, the, 335 

Tilberthwaite Glen, illustration 
p. 236 

Tillbrook, Rev. Samuel, 297 

Tintern Abbey, 103; illustrations 
pp. 102, 106 

Tiviot Dale, 168 

Tours, 47, 59, 63, 103, 253, 315, 
333 

Trinity Lodge, Cambridge, 321 

Tutor, Wordsworth's prospects of 
becoming a, 64, 88 

Tweddel, , 113 

Tweed (River), 167, 168, 325, 
327 

Tyson's, Ann, cottage, Hawks- 
head, 27, 50; illustration p. 



Ullswater, 145, 147, 312; illus- 
trations pp. 168, 172, 322 

Ulpha, in Duddon Valley, illustra- 
tion p. 304 

Upper Rydal, 150 

" Vale of Nightshade," 35 
Valley of Rocks, Lynton, illustra- 
tion p. 94 

W 7 ales, tour in, 59 

Wansfell, 251 ; illustration p. 250 

Warton, Thomas, 343 

Wastwater, 331 

Wedgwoods, The, and Coleridge, 
112 

Wensley Dale, 128, 137 

Wetherlam, illustration p. 52 

Whitehaven, 67 

Wilson, Professor, 319, 320 

Windermere, Lake, 9, 31 et seq., 
49, 98, 99, 283, 284 ; islands in, 
33, 98, 284 ; illustrations pp. 38, 
42 

Windy Brow, near Keswick, 64 

Wishing-gate, Grasmere Vale, 305 
et seq. ; illustration p. 310 

Words, W 7 ordsworth's use of un- 
usual, 62 



[ 351 ] 



INDEX 



Wordsworth, Charles, nephew of 
Poet, 325 

Wordsworth, Christopher, brother 
of Poet, 42, 47, 60, 63, 295 

Wordsworth, Dora, daughter of 
Poet, 165, 318, 319, 321, 322, 
325, 331, 332 

Wordsworth, Dorothy, letters, 42, 
47, 59, 60, 63, 64, 73, 88, 89, 
110, 142, 208, 209, 214, 215, 217, 
218, 223, 251, 316; extracts 
from Journal, 147, 148; allu- 
sions to, 9, 14, 15, 83 et seq., 91, 
92, 103, 107, 113, 125 et seq., 
139, 140, 166, 168 et seq., 173, 
225, 330; 'portrait p. 86 

Wordsworth, John, brother of 
Poet, 42, 63, 117, 131, 142, 
144, 170, 171, 172, 173, 175 
et seq. 

Wordsworth, John, son of Poet, 
296, 316 

Wordsworth, Mrs. (Mary Hutch- 
inson), 131, 144, 148, 160 et seq., 



171, 173, 225, 259, 314, 318, 319, 
324, 333 

Wordsworth, Richard, brother of 
Poet, 42, 48 

Wordsworth Society, 184 

Wordsworth, William, letters, 47, 
59, 67, 88, 112, 114, 115, 136, 
163, 165, 166, 170, 172, 190, 212, 
219, 222, 225, 226, 288, 289, 
290, 291, 293, 294, 296, 315, 
319, 320, 321, 323, 325, 330, 
331, 332, 333, 335, 337, 338, 
340, 341, 342 

Wrangham, Francis, 88 

Wrynose Fell, 302 

Wye (River), 103 et seq. 

Yarrow Vale and River, 167 et 
seq., 326 et seq. 

Yew trees, in Grasmere church- 
yard, 166; in Lorton Vale, 192; 
illustration p. 204 

York Cathedral, 58 

Yorkshire tour, 144 



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